Carpe Noctem
by Tourniquette
Summary: During detention on the night of Beltane, Hermione sees certain people doing...inappropriate things. Sev/Herm/Draco, Lucius/Sinistra. Warning: non-con, slash, saturnalia.
1. Knock First, Please

**Carpe Noctem: Knock First, Please.**

by Tourniquette

**Carpe Noctem**

**Chapter 1 - It's Polite To Knock First...**

"And this—" Professor Severus Snape prodded the gooey mass at his feet with a single black leather boot, "—is what happens when someone attempts to speak the words 'Weasley' and 'competent' in the same breath."

Hermione's eyes widened to saucers as she stared at Neville. Or rather, what was left of Neville. Every bone in his body, save for his skull, had disappeared, and Longbottom was trying to wave his arms in a manner that reminded her of an amoeba she had seen in tenth form biology.

"Weasley's pulled another Lockhart," Draco snickered.

_Prick. _"Well, at least that's only thing he's pulling," Hermione shot back, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly at Draco's hand, which he quickly yanked out from under Pansy's jumper. Pansy, in turn, hastily withdrew her hand from inside Draco's trousers.

"Mind your own damn bloody business, Mudblood," Draco hissed. Suddenly, another thought occurred to him, and he sneered. "Unless, of course, you'd like to have a go?"

To Draco's satisfaction, Hermione's face turned a brilliant shade of crimson before words got the better of her. "Sod off!"

Draco grinned. "Come off it, Granger. We all know Ron hasn't been giving you any, and I'll be damned if Potter isn't the ripest fruit I ever saw." He sighed, putting a playful finger to his lips in mock concern. "I imagine it wouldn't be the most exhilarating experience, what with me being a Pureblood and you a lousy Mudblood, but with time—"

"Malfoy, if you were the definition of pure, blasphemy would be a benediction and the world would have fucked itself." _Bugger. I think I just swore in front of a Professor for the first time in my life._

"Mister Malfoy. Miss Granger." The cool, velvety voiced floated between them. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all, Professor. We were simply discussing…" Hermione scrambled for an excuse. "…Neville's unwilling ability to land himself in rather unlucky spots of trouble."

"Really," Snape purred, bending over between them.

When the words rolled off his tongue in that serpentine manner, one knew not to make a single false step, just in case. One couldn't always tell whether Snape was going to let a minor irritant slide like squashed biting faeries off the heel of his boot, or allow it to congeal like Longbottom's cauldron, slowly simmering until his mood abruptly boiled over, so to speak.

The Potions master paused, gauging some intangible scent between the two of them in the air. Hermione shivered. It wasn't his lanky black hair, his large, slender hands, or even the way his mouth was always curved into a cruel smile, colder than ice. 

It was his eyes that frightened her. 

If eyes were the windows to the soul, then she was constantly staring into a darkened well. Snape's eyes were bottomless pits, cavernous and full of secrets. The pathways to the gates of Hell.

_Damn, but he's the creepiest teacher ever._

"Twenty points off Slytherin _and_ Gryffindor." Professor Snape stood upright. "Weasley, kindly scoop up Mr. Longbottom and escort him to Madame Pomfrey's before you rack up a negative point average for your House. Mister Malfoy, detention is at eight pm in here. Miss Granger, I shall expect you at nine. Perhaps an hour of scrubbing for each of you will illuminate the benefits of tactful silence during my lessons. Class is dismissed."

Oblivious to Draco and Hermione's mouths hanging open, the other students scrambled to disappear from the Potion master's classroom before he decided to "enlighten" the entire lot of them.

"But—but—Professor—" Draco sputtered.

"You heard me," Snape replied calmly, not even bothering to turn around. "Interruptions in my class will not be tolerated. Eight pm sharp, wasn't it? Good day." With that, Professor Snape turned abruptly and glided toward his desk, the black folds of his cloak swirling in a cold rush of air around him.

Hermione was half an hour early.

She was so furious about the detention—the rumors, the hushed tones, the sidestepping in the halls and at supper, the laughter, quickly concealed by a wand wave or a robe sleeve—she had decided to start early and get it over with faster, even if it meant spending time in the company of one Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Pet Bastard. _Snape doesn't exactly appreciate tardiness, anyway._

Ron, after receiving a good kick in the shins from Harry, had offered to accompany her to the dungeons during dinner. She had politely declined, and after silently noting the withering looks Malfoy was shooting her, it was probably for the best. Besides, he had to sweep all of the hallways of the entire East Wing for his stunt with Neville (currently on the mend, so to speak, in the infirmary), and given that Harry was dueling Ginny at Wizarding Chess in the library tonight, it didn't take a genius to deduce where Gryffindor's Seeker wanted to be as quickly as possible.

If that wasn't enough of a deterrent, there was always the likely chance that Snape would kill him on sight.

Well, at least there were actually people sitting out on the Beltane celebration by choice. Hermione sighed and licked her lips, imagining of all the chocolate mousse she was missing in the Great Hall. No use thinking about it now.

She reached the door to the Potions classroom and grasped the metal handle. It didn't budge. _That's funny,_ Hermione thought. _Snape's classroom is never locked during detention hours..._

Hermione strolled down the stone hallway a few steps further, reaching the second door in sight: one of dark cherry wood, the dark latches etched firmly in place in the quaint fashion of the local countryside. 

Suddenly, thoughts on exactly how old the castle really was rose unbidden to the surface of her mind. Secrets, rituals—the binding spells that must have gone into the mortar, the sweat and blood and obsession woven into the very fabric of the walls that—

_Stop it._ Hermione snorted in self-derision and pushed open the door.

She had seen his office only once before. It was a marvelous secret, indeed.

Books lined the wall behind his mahogany desk. Tomes of all different languages, many in Greek or Latin, forbidden books one couldn't even find in the Restricted Section of the library. And the other side, amidst the vases from China, the mosaic coffee table and the hand-woven Indian tapestries…

She had little time to think about any of it. There were noises coming from the classroom.

Gasping, moaning, _panting_ noises.

The door was fifteen feet away.

Hermione barely had time to duck behind the desk as the second door leading to the Potions classroom banged open.

Hermione stifled a gasp of shock as the door to Snape's office creaked open and a frighteningly familiar voice broke through the silence.

"Mmm, Professor—"

_Oh, Gods, _Hermione groaned. _Malfoy shagging an instructor in an empty office. Where in the hell is Snape?_

She stiffened, then relaxed. That possibility was as implausible as a house elf receiving a pension. _If only you knew what Draco was doing while you left him left him alone..._

She groaned inwardly. _It can't get any worse than this._

A frustrated sigh. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Malfoy." The Potions master's voice sliced through Hermione's uncertainty. "It's _Severus_ to you."

_I stand corrected._

"Whatever you say, Professor," Draco answered breathily, indicating that he could care less what Snape _said,_ as long as the Potions master did what he wanted.

Hermione crawled under the desk just as Snape reached around Draco to slam the door shut. 

She sat perfectly still, hunched into a ball in the footspace made for Snape's desk chair and feeling like an amateur spy in a detective thriller. The floor was freezing cold, and her nose was itching from the dust. She shifted her head slightly, and noticed that the side panel obscuring her from view had a grated pattern with small holes in it.

_Great,_ Hermione thought. _They'll see me. Damn it._

For the first time in what must have been eons, Hermione said a silent prayer. At that moment, she was hard pressed to think of any point in time when it could possibly be worse for Snape to find her in his office. 

Or to simply find her, period.

And yet...

There was something, a tug of deep, morbid curiosity that forced her to turn her head once again towards the slits in the wood design and watch them both, the kind of unbidden action that forces one's self to abandon a state of high anxiety in favor of keen perception.

Draco was tugging frantically at Snape's buttons, moaning loudly against the taller man's shoulder. In the end, Severus had far greater success in disrobing his lover. Malfoy's robes, shirt and tie were gone before he had finished with Snape's vest, and his trousers weren't far behind.

"Honestly, Draco," Severus' voice dripped with condescension. "We haven't got all night. There is another detentionée arriving in less than twenty minutes. Unless you have forgotten, which wouldn't surprise me in the least."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Can't she wait?" he whinged, somehow transforming a childish plea into the demand of distinguished company who felt miffed at the restraints of the hourglass.

"No. I'm afraid we're going to have to skip the lengthy...exposition this time." 

Now naked except for his briefs, Draco obediently lay down, splaying himself across the chaise in what even Hermione had to admit was a most seductive fashion. From her viewpoint, his upper body was visible over the arch at the head of the furniture, his arms dangling lazily over the sides in the same manner as his disheveled platinum hair.

Snape circled the reclining couch, eyeing his prize. Stroking his tapered fingers softly along the lines of muscle and sinew in Draco's shoulders, the Professor straddled him and began massaging his back in long, fluid strokes. Draco's eyelids fluttered shut, and he moaned facedown into the cushions.

After a minute or so, Snape slid further up, his fingers lightly traipsing over Malfoy's temples--a silent dance of domination to accompany the caresses of his mouth on the student's skin. The golden boy's head shot up, and he gasped and shuddered, slowly relaxing again into regular series of whimpers and moans.

_Wow,_ Hermione thought, intent on not letting the erotic scene before her affect her judgment too badly. _That is one accommodating Professor..._

Her mind did a double-take. _Professor? Ewwww._

But that wasn't what her body was saying.

At that particular moment, Snape was emitting a kind of sound that Hermione failed to find words for, save that he would be fired if he made it in front of Dumbledore. He was moving along Draco's back in a rhythmic fashion, and Hermione finally realised that he was already shagging Malfoy. He was simply doing so with subtlety.

_Why am I watching this?_ Hermione thought to herself in panic. _I'm going to be dead enough as it is; there is absolutely no need to add guilt into the equation._

Despite her mind's desperate pleas, however, Hermione couldn't help but be fascinated by the way they rose together, arching and entwined like tangled branches twisting at the onset of a storm. It was so foreign to her, this sinuous, sinister embrace of bodies. She had never been that intimate with anyone, and though Hermione had no doubt that Ron would happily volunteer his services, she was as likely to take him up on that offer as Aragog was to sprout wings. Seeing this act was tasting forbidden fruit, a glimpse inside a hidden world to which she had no means of entry.

Besides, she was in love with his best friend. And _he_ evidently forgot that she was a girl most of the time.

_Except when it's convenient to try and set me and Ron up,_ her thoughts remarked bitterly. _Merlin, if he doesn't feel that way about me, why can't he just leave my personal life the heck alone?_

Of course, no one was there to answer her. Except for the couple fucking themselves incoherent on the chaise, and Hermione seriously doubted they'd be amenable to conversation at this point.

_Speaking of which..._

Hermione turned her attention back to Snape and Malfoy. The Potions master's breathing was definitely ragged, and Draco was mumbling indiscernible words of encouragement. Suddenly, he turned his head sideways, lying in the direction of the desk. She could see straight into his line of sight, and it frightened her for several moments, until she figured out that he wasn't looking in her direction. Still, it was a disturbing gaze, the eyes devoid of any human traces of compassion. They were icy, fathomless depths of electric blue, cruel and otherworldly.

_He looks like a porcelain doll,_ Hermione thought. _Cold. Perfect. Beautiful._

The Gryffindor, hunched up in a crawlspace that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, allowed herself to grudgingly admit that he was good looking, if also a complete prick. She thought of a story her friend had let her read when she was eleven. Hermione still had Muggle friends back then, before her constant evasion of their questions and sudden disinterest in fashion and local guys had driven them apart . It was a short, simplistic book about twin girls who solved riddles attached to mysterious dolls they received as Christmas gifts, and the porcelain figures came to life as two princes from another world. Rubbish, really, but Hermione failed to stop thoughts of Draco as toy doll from entering her head.

His eyes were glazed over with lust, and with each thrust his golden-white hair moved along the cushions. He reached up to brush it away with a free hand (the other was decidedly busy). Professor Snape was very, very close to the edge. And all she could think of was Draco as a porcelain prince.

_Porcelain Prince. Ha! It fits him perfectly. _The thought of Draco in miniature, combined with someone painting red lipstick and dots of rouge and eyeliner onto his tiny, churlish face made her want to die of laughter.

Unfortunately, it also made her giggle. Just once, and quietly, but Hermione clamped a hand down over her mouth in horror, unable to prevent the escape of noise that rose from her concealed observatory.

At that exact moment, Draco's eyes shot to the position of her hiding place, and her heart nearly stopped beating.

_Well, bugger._

Simultaneously, Snape gave one final thrust and cried out, coming a second later. Hermione froze. She sat perfectly still under the desk, unwilling to move, knowing she could be caught if she did—that in all likelihood, she was probably caught already.

Snape had collapsed onto Draco. He lay there for a moment, tracing the side of Malfoy's chest, a secret smile on his face. He rose noiselessly, and Hermione realized he had had his robes on the entire time.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was content to dwell in the languor of post-coital pleasure, not seeming to care that she, Hermione, was supposed to be in the Potions classroom any minute now. Noticing his companion's hand still moving underneath him, Snape sighed and sat back down. He flipped Draco over, pushed the younger man's fingers away from his own member, and resumed the same action, only quicker and more forcefully than Draco had done. "We don't have any time for this," the Professor hissed. "Perhaps later, at the fires—"

Hermione started to relax, despite being fascinated and disturbed by what she was seeing. Draco hadn't noticed her. He was too busy trying to get off quickly. _He was looking in this direction before I erupted into peals of stifled laughter, at any rate._

Indeed, Draco was fairly preoccupied with Snape's...ministrations. He tossed his head from side to side, approaching climax, turning in the direction of the desk again, eyes unseeing before they closed in delight.

She was safe. They would get dressed, Draco would leave, and she could exit out the other office door and emerge in the hallway, pretending that _absolutely nothing had happened_. Nothing _had_ happened.

Malfoy arched off the couch as he screamed Snape's first name. Then the sound of his breathing subsided, returning to normal. 

She hadn't seen anything. _They _certainly didn't need to know. Hermione sighed in relief. _Everything will be all right after a_—

—And Draco's eyes snapped open, focusing on the exact spot where she was hiding, his lips spreading in an amused grin. "Oh. Hello, Granger."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I finally decided to resurrect this ancient relic and post it in completed form. There are five chapters in total, and future chapters will include some slash as well, although this is a het-centric story. Originally, I intended for it to be a PWP, but the spellwork and corrupted versions of the Beltane Rites got the better of me. No character deaths, but don't expect a happy ending...

Constructive criticism is always appreciated, since I have no beta and the work is almost three years old. It is dedicated to Auror Borealis, a wonderful SS/HG fanfic writer from WIKTT who suddenly and inexplicably left the fandom in April 2002.


	2. What's a little blood between friends?

Plot: During detention on the night of Beltane, Hermione sees certain people doing inappropriate things. Warning: non-con, slash, saturnalia, orgies.  
Disclaimer: Dude. I _told_ you I was poor. Get over it.  
Author Note: I'm still not done yet! I don't have a beta for this story, so I had to go back and edit the first chapter again. I promise, the next chapter will be up sometime late tonight.  
The phrase _manus russus _is Latin genitive singular, meaning "of the red hand." Please keep arms and legs inside the flying car at all times, and enjoy the ride.

***~Carpe Noctem~***  
Tourniquette

Part II

Hermione felt the bottom of her stomach drop out from beneath her. _This can't be happening_, she thought. 

For a second, her Potions professor lost that careful composure that always surrounded him. In a manner almost indicative of feminine embarrassment, he wiped his mouth gently on the back of his hand and stood up shakily, his feet stumbling a fraction of an inch as he distanced himself from Draco as fast as possible.

It was only temporary.

Snape took only a moment to recover, and the silent, imperious mask fell before him once again as he clasped his hands in front of him. "Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't move.

"Miss Granger," the Potions master growled. "Come out from under there at once!"

Cringing more than she had thought was humanly possible, Hermione slowly emerged from underneath Snape's desk, refusing to meet either his or Draco's countenance. He was undoubtedly throwing her a scornful expression at that very moment.

The silence stretched out before them, endless and tangibly thick with tension. Hermione's throat felt dry. _How am I supposed to explain this?_

"What are you waiting for, Granger?" Malfoy sneered, leaning against the mahogany finish of a nearby cabinet, daring her to screw up, and screw up royally. 

"After all," he added, inspecting his fingernails with meticulous care as he stared her down with those cool, impassive eyes, "--the truth will set you free."

_He's mocking me._ The thought clung to her as she watched the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smug smile. Draco knew full well that Snape could recommend her expulsion on the simple grounds of her being in his private office. 

But she had spied on him doing something...highly unprofessional, and the punishment, no matter what her excuse, was bound to be far worse. 

_Draco Malfoy._

Draco just stood there, knowing full well she would never willingly get herself into this kind of situation, refusing to stick a finger out in her defense. He knew full well what was going to happen to her, and he probably looked forward to having the highest marks in potions. He reveled in every mistake he made, and no doubt he would enjoy boasting to his friends about how Hermione had broken into Snape's private quarters to conduct surreptitious "Mudblood business." Snape was his Head of House, and he would rather die a thousand deaths than implicate Slytherin and lose the House Cup. 

Snape had his reasons for being cruel, idiotic as they were; he could lose his job. Draco, on the other hand_, _positively _enjoyed_ being sadistic. Furthermore, he could taunt her, and she couldn't say or do a damned thing about it. _The bloody bastard._

It was infuriating. And he knew it.

Hermione figured she had better say something, and say it fast, because with the way the Potions master was drumming his spidery fingers against the wooden countertop in front of them, he wasn't going to give her a chance to speak at all if she didn't take this one immediately.

Hermione straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and calmly began to speak.

_________________

"Albus," the pale figure whispered to the Headmaster, "I have to leave now." She scanned the crowd of students devouring the Spring Feast. Snape had left ages ago, and several of the seventh years were on their way.

"Very well," Dumbledore nodded, smiling wearily. "I'm afraid all these holiday festivities wear me out more quickly than they used to. Good evening then, my dear."

"Good night, Headmaster."

As the dark figure swept up her trailing robes and disappeared through the main archway, Dumbledore's gaze followed her out. He had learned not to rouse suspicions as well as any other operative. _Let them play their games. We have many plans to complete as it is without tearing masks off._

The woman brushed up her hair in the mirror of her wardrobe. A little bottle of elixir stood on a stand several meters away, the moonlight that crept between her curtains barely enough to reveal the chartreuse liquid swirling behind the glass. She sighed to herself. 

Wrapping her cloak around her, the professor reached over to unstopper the cork in the vial. _The things one must do for loyalty._

She hesitated only for a moment before lifting the drink to her lips.

The courtyard was deserted as she had expected. Apparition was out of the question, so after crossing the lake, the woman made her way slowly down the path towards the gates of Hogwarts. A figure stood in shadow by the iron gates, silent and watchful. She exhaled. 

He was waiting for her.

A few whispered words, and the bars swung open unfettered by creaky hinges. The man grinned, white teeth gleaming in the darkness as he reached to clasp and kiss her proffered hand. "Enchanting. As always."

The lady smiled a little, her eyes betraying some sort of mysterious amusement. 

"Hello, Lucius." 

He took her arm.

_________________

"—So you see, Professor," Hermione finished nervously, "I had no intention of hiding at all. I was simply here to inquire if I could start my chore—_chores_ early. Then I heard noises that sounded..." she trailed off, glaring at Malfoy. 

"...Indecorous," she finished tartly.

Snape turned away from both of them, his posture unreadable. "And you thought it unwise to remain in sight, choosing instead to grant said persons the illusions of privacy until it proved safe to exit my chambers."

"That's correct, sir. I had no idea—" Hermione blushed. "I thought it was some students who assumed they'd found an empty room."

"I see."

She was finding herself more nervous with each passing second. "Please, Professor, just assign me a punishment, or report me to McGonagall—"

"Silence." Snape waved his hand, dismissing her words as ridiculous. "You will not be referred to your Head of House until such a time as I deem it appropriate to do so."

Draco looked crestfallen. He had his mouth halfway open in protest when Severus shot him a look that froze him in mid-consonant.

"The cauldrons _do_ desperately need a good scrubbing," the Potions master remarked thoughtfully.

Hermione sighed in relief. She turned to leave for the classroom.

The voice behind her stopped her in her tracks. "Miss Granger, did I say you could leave?"

Hermione spun around, bewildered. "But you just said..." she trailed off.

Snape rewarded her with a look that one might give a spoiled child when it has written on the wall in ink and still expects ice cream after dinner. "I merely _stated a fact_," he snapped. "In the future, Miss Granger..." the Professor paused, his mood change so swift it was almost imperceptible. An unpleasantly cold smile spread across his features. "...Hermione," he finished softly, "You will learn to wait until you have clear orders from your superiors before acting further.

"It seemed like an obvious conclusion to me," Hermione retorted. "Anyone else would have assumed the same thing."

"You know, Mudblood, to _assume_ is to make an ass of 'you' and 'me.'"

"For the love of Merlin, Malfoy, shut the fuck up."

"Yes, sir."

"Now," Snape continued, glaring at Malfoy but otherwise completely oblivious to Hermione's shock at hearing a teacher swear, "we have an interesting question of ethics in play. On the one hand, you have broken several school rules, at least one of them being sufficient grounds for expulsion..."

"Besides being in the wrong room at the wrong time, what have I done?" Hermione protested. _No use turning back now. At least if I speak up, I'll have saved what's left of my dignity._

"Attempted theft, for one thing," Draco replied, lifting his wand into the air. _"Manus russus!" _Instantly, fingerprints on Snape's desk that Hermione could only assume to be her own flashed bright red, spreading to cover several objects in their immediate surroundings, including some potions stores left on another table and a strange, rare-looking specimen in a jar on the iron grate window sill. The fingerprints glowed for a moment, then disappeared.

Draco sashayed over to the jar, peering at its contents. "Tsk, tsk, Granger," he chided solemnly. "Caught red-handed stealing Snape's potion ingredients. Even stooping so low as to try and swipe a genuine _dollfusi._ Shame on you."

_"What?"_ Hermione gritted her teeth, trying hard not to lunge and strangle him.

"The _octopus dollfusi_, or Dolifus's Octopus, is native to the coastal waters off of Thailand. I bought it on the black market, as wizards have failed to recognize the value of Eastern seafood and normally don't sell it. Baby octopodes," he enunciated mockingly, "or _octopuses_, as the common tongue is apt to corrupt the word, are an imported delicacy. They also happen to have potent medicinal values in some potions I make."

"Ah." The possibility of anyone accusing her of stealing a dead octopus fetus was beyond her, but Hermione kept her comments nonverbal.

"On the other hand," Severus continued as he paced the length of the room with a steady meter, "if I expel you—and believe me, the thought _has_ crossed my mind—then there would be no reason for you to keep what you saw a secret. The revelation of _this_," he spat, gesturing with his arms as if he dared not describe the acts that had taken place only moments before, "would ruin my career and earn me the wrath of Draco's _ever-so-charming_ parents." He snorted in distaste, but Draco didn't appear to mind Snape's derisive tone in the slightest.

"I will agree to never utter a word of this to another living soul, provided that you don't ruin _my_ career with a few well-chosen words," Hermione replied. "After all, I am about to graduate."

Draco whispered something to the Potions master. Severus nodded curtly after a short pause. With his trademark smirk, Malfoy disappeared into the storeroom.

"You see, Hermione," Snape explained, "Even with your assurance and good intentions, one must never underestimate the power of persuasion. Secrets eat away at you until you burn to unearth them. That is their power, and that is their hold over us both." Hermione barely noticed when Draco swept into the room, his arms full of ingredients that he set down in the classroom next door. She was focused on Snape.

Acutely aware of how he was backing her up slowly into the classroom, Hermione tried not to panic. "I think you're taking for granted that I would ever _want_ to tell anyone about what I saw." She made a face that clearly indicated exactly what she thought of Snape shagging the younger Malfoy.

"I can't very well cast _Obliviate_ now, can I?" Severus asked sharply. "Tell me, Miss Granger. Why not? Dazzle us, will you?" He arched an eyebrow at her, questioning whether she had been paying attention in class that spring.

_He's got a point._ "Because the spell often erases far more than the desired memories, and when coupled with anxiety, anger or fear on the part of the spell's caster, can cause extreme cases of extensive, if not permanent, memory loss. Take Gilderoy Lockhart, for example."

"And what a damned bloody mess _that_ was," Snape muttered.

"I see your point. Go on." Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know the alternatives, but anything was better than losing her memories: her research, her talents, her schoolwork--everything she had struggled so hard to achieve without the advantages of a wizarding family or an inheritance. Everything. _There has to be another way, and he's going to find it, or by all that is holy, I'll make him sorry he ever _imagined _what the insides of Malfoy's robes looked like._

"It shouldn't surprise you that I do not wish to engage in mutual blackmail," the Potions Master informed her, a scornful look on his visage. "While you can afford to be lackadaisical and throw away your future to best a teacher, it would bring me no joy to have to expel you once you had revealed what you knew. Therefore, I must ensure that you will not break your silence, and the only way to do this is to invoke a form of the _Fidelius_ charm."

It sounded reasonable. "Okay," Hermione answered warily. "What do I have to—"

"Not so fast," Snape interjected coolly. "In order to make such an incantation work and last under stress for an indefinite amount of time, it must be far more potent than the average charm. You are not a parent of a Hogwarts student who Dumbledore sets to forget a child's school is magical, called upon only at rare intervals to test the bounds between loyalty and truth." 

Severus kept talking to her as he assisted Draco in whatever foul concoction Draco was brewing, and Hermione realized they had wandered fully into the classroom during the conversation. The door to the hallway was now ajar. Either Draco was incredibly careless, or the May Day feast really _was _as popular this year as Ron had claimed it would be. Maybe they had checked for eavesdroppers.

"This incantation requires a potion, as well as your average elaborate, complicated spell. I had one of my finest students start on it as soon as the situation was evident." Snape drew out the words, the silent jab at Hermione's abilities not lost on her. Draco continued to measure out and add several sinister ingredients--organic components of questionable origin. 

"These items are expensive, and I am not pleased about having to use them." The Potions master folded his arms, his cloak billowing silently behind him as he glided across the stone floor to stand directly in front of the seventh term Gryffindor. "In return for performing this service—"

_"Service?"_ Hermione spat incredulously. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one engaging relations with someone fifteen years my junior!"

He ignored her. "In return for _not Obliviating_ you, you must provide..." Snape paused, thinking of the appropriate terms, "...ample compensation."

Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking that Laclos' Valmont had nothing on Snape. "I'm listening."

"All I ask," he entreated her, turning up his palms in supplication, "is a small amount of your blood." Severus smirked, reminding Hermione that there was something about this particular man that was not entirely human.

Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to know, much less wonder about what he would possibly use an ingredient like _that_ for in his work. Blood was an extremely powerful wizard's tool; its magical properties endless in number and not yet discovered in their entirety. Unbidden thoughts of Snape as a Death Eater suddenly were a lot more plausible, although she was almost certain that he was a double agent. Still...

"That's it? I let you drain my veins for a few seconds, and you're going to be satisfied? No voodoo curses, or counterspells or hexes on my genetic family tree? Just...blood?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I need a drop for the final part of the _Fidelius_ charm anyway," Snape replied casually. He fixed his gaze on her face, his expression masked with years of practice. "It's either that," he intoned softly with an icy stare, "—or _Obliviate."_

_How much are my memories worth? _She asked herself. _And am I willing to give Snape what he craves just to save my past?_

"I'm a very busy man, Miss Granger," Severus snapped. "I haven't got all night. Make your choice.You will be bound to it."

Hermione tried to read his face, hesitating. All she saw were black, fathomless irises, drowning his pupils in silence—as emotionless as the rest of him. She took a tentative step forward, over the border and into _his_ realm, a world shrouded in night, and Hermione trembled only slightly before taking his hand in her own and shaking it.

She didn't see the sadistic grin that had spread from ear to ear on Draco's face. 

Or the black triumph that glittered in her teacher's eyes.

Inside, Severus Snape was laughing. _Too late._


	3. It's Only A Little Poison, Dear

Plot: During detention on the night of Beltane, Hermione sees certain people doing inappropriate things. Warning: non-con, slash, saturnalia, orgies.

Disclaimer: Seriously. Like, _dude_. The chicken has left the pot. I'm just picking up the trail of feathers and decorating my closet with them.

Author Note: I'm so sorry. This was supposed to be a month ago. I'm taking Intensive language courses as well as directing a play (just a few of my activities), and I have absolutely no time. I'm exhausted. This is unedited, so there may be spelling mistakes and such. Please forgive me. And this story is going to be at least five chapters long, if it doesn't expand into a much longer story, so be patient. And while you're at it, go read White Raven's "Tea With The Black Dragon" and Werecat's "Of Death and Fire." Mmm, love lust triengles...

...And now the fun begins. ;-D Latin notes at the end.

Dedications: I actually have an audience. That is unbelievably cool.

**Analisa: **I like details, too. They're like the yeast in the bread— a bunch of stuff for the dough to fluff, or you're bread's going to be pretty damn tough. [Now you know why I'd be a bad poet.] No offense to Matzah intended.

**Elf: **Thanks for taking a dive on this onenot my first fanfic, but the exposition of any piece makes me nervous.

**Pinky Lemon:** The faithful reviewer! Extra brownie points!

**Azalais Malfoy:** Is this the same infamous Azalais at Ill-Faith? Wow. I love your take on the Malfoys back in the Sat Night Fever dayscompletely original.

**Sukkumbus:** I'm sure as heck my research is actually for readers who will appreciate it. You know a lot about Pagan rites, and it shows in your work (Yes, I do read your work!).

**Werecat99:** Thanks so much for the praise! I just read your updated fic, and it's great.

**White Raven: ***blushes* I feel really honored that you actually read this. I feel for you with two kids to take care of; it reminds me of the two months when I was a full-time house sitter for two kids and a baby and trying to write my Arthurian novel. Do I need to mention that the novel is still not finished? I'll be waiting (as patiently as I can manage) for updates on your wonderful fic. Until then, may Snape be near your heart and the Malfoysnear other places. ;.)

P.S.: Did I mention that means explicit situations? Not that you shouldn't have had that impression from the start, but this fic is a strong R from here on in. And I promise that Draco and Snape get equal time eventually in the story arcor is it time? Hee.

***~Carpe Noctem~***

Tourniquette

Part III 

Hermione shrugged. "Done. So can we just get this over with? My friends are going to be wondering where I am if 10:30 rolls around and I'm not back. I'm guessing from the manner in which Draco is preparing the ingredients that it's not a 'Just Add Water!' kind of potion."

Snape didn't answer, as he was reading a passage from one of the ancient books she had glimpsed in his office. Draco finished stirring whatever he was stirring and brought it over to Hermione, letting it steam underneath her nose so that she inhaled a good whiff of it. He proceeded to lift her right hand and fit the warm beaker into it, his gaze never leaving hers.

_Boy, Malfoy sure is acting awfully solemn about this whole affair_, she thought.

Hermione lifted the glass container to her nose and drew it past her swiftly, not fast enough to spill it but quickly enough to avoid the damaging effects of any noxious fumes. Its lime green consistency belied the strange, bitter aroma that coasted past her nostrils. _Smells like Mandrake root...curious._

Malfoy replied on cue, as if he were reading her thoughts. Believe me, Granger, if I was trying to poison you, I could have succeeded long before this. The scent you smell is _piper methysticum_, commonly known as kava kava.' It's a popular calming agent among Pacific Island tribes. It should taste slightly like Mandrake root, but it hardly has the same effects.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Snape whipped around. And exactly _when_ did I say to add that? he snapped harshly.

Draco shrugged. I know what I'm doing. It doesn't have any catalytic effects on the potion. I read the spell too, Professor.

Hermione had the distinct impression that Snape was trying to hide his anger at being momentarily one-upped by a man he thought inferior to even Granger, and simultaneously deny the fact that it proved both of the students to be talented. Her classmate was clearly brighter than he let on. _So why the hell is he baiting Severus so much? If _I_ were his lover..._

She didn't even try to finish _that_ thought.

Come on, Granger, Malfoy growled. I didn't prepare this for you to stare at it. He issued a snort at her skepticism and strolled back over to his worktable.

Hermione walked over to Snape, still holding the unconsumed liquid in her hand. Shouldn't you take a drop of my blood first, before it's contaminated by the potion? She held out her left wrist, palm upturned.

_I hate seeing my own blood,_ she thought with disgust. _But this has to be done._ Snape reached for a clean, ceremonial knife that was lying next to the book, and she realized she couldn't watch. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the sting of the blade, whipping across her skin to produce the dark red substance that sustained her. Waiting for the pain.

It never came.

Cautiously peeking one eye open, Hermione looked for the silver sheen of the blade. It wasn't anywhere in sight. She opened both her eyes and stared at Snape in surprise. He was wrapping the knife in a velvet covering, and began whispering words in the arcane tongue of the time before Middle English, that of the Wyrds and the Norse Druids, his voice resounding in the chamber like bells buried in stone.

That was when she saw it. The faded page, undoubtedly centuries older than Dumbledore himself, stained by lifetimes of use. But the words remained the same.

Hermione read snatches of the text in familiar medieval calligraphy, her eyes widening in horror. She had heard of this spell's existence. Once...

_ipsa vellet te rogare...si deceret virginem...congreges inter catervas ire per saltus tuos, floreas inter coronas, myrteas inter casas...nec Ceres, nec Bacchus absunt...detinenda tota nox est pervigilanda canticis...moxque Marti de sacello dat pudicam virginem... rura fecundat voluptas, rura Venerem sentiunt...______[1]_____

And she knew. Witnessed it in the gleeful condescension of Draco's silent mirth as he leaned against one of the laboratory tables. Guessed it from the lack of any charm preparation and the strange tongues in which Snape spoke instead. Noticed it in the way a task that was a nuisance to both Slytherins took so long, from the secret smug looks the two men shared between them.

They had never intended to perform _Fidelius._

She set the beaker down.

Severus realized that Hermione had read the book over his shoulder in the same second that she bolted for the door.

He grabbed her arm with one hand, waving the oaken entrance shut with the other using wandless magic. It slammed shut, and halfway across the room, the breeze generated blew papers off Severus' desk out of sheer force.

Hermione, frightened beyond all belief and bound by a state of perpetual indignation—_How dare they?!?,_ she thought—twisted and yanked downwards with all her might. The unprepared Potions master lost his grip, and in the process, his balance as well. He toppled over a lab chair as Draco whirled around to see what the commotion was.

There was no time to think, no time to stop and weigh the consequences of her actions. There was only action and reaction. Reflex. Unbridled instincts, the need to escape before something extremely _bad_ happened. 

And she wasn't about to wait and find out what that was.

_Petrificus Totalus._ The words were out of her mouth before she even knew she had uttered them. The look of shock and murderous rage on Snape's face was plastered in time as his muscles stiffened from her curse. 

_Yup, that's definitely worthy of expulsion,_ Hermione thought absently as she shoved Draco out of the way and scrambled for the nearest exit.

The knob handle turned in her grasp, but the door held fast. Hermione spun, darting towards the office entrance...

__

She ought to have known better.

Before Hermione had a chance to swear at herself for her stupidity, she felt the state of panic and fear melt away in cool, lingering waves that flowed off her skin. She lowered her wand arm.

_Feels peaceful, doesn't it?_ She heard a mocking voice inside her head remark. _Now turn around..._

Hermione complied, measuring her steps in obedience until she faced her attacker.

Malfoy stared disconsolately at her, his wand leveled at her heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione noticed that his hands were trembling ever so slightly. _Come here._

One again, she had no choice but to obey, retracing her steps back to the desk where Snape was waiting with the vial as Draco guided their path, one hand gently steering her by the shoulders.

The Potions master wordlessly handed her the concoction. His lithe frame was shaking with silent fury.

_Drink it, _Draco whispered. And Hermione couldn't tell whether the voice was in her mind or in her ear, so close was the younger Malfoy in proximity.

Dimly, she was aware of her fingers wrapping around the glass, Draco throwing Severus a look of triumph, watching in mute horror as every second brought the vile liquid closer to her lips

_Stop. StopSTOP!_

Malfoy's concentration must have lapsed momentarily, because she felt the cotton-like swelling in her head suddenly disappear.

Hesitating only a moment, Hermione threw the drink onto the floor and watched in satisfaction as the glass shattered into a thousand pieces mingling with the green substance that oozed on the floor and had spattered the hems of their robes.

_There_, Hermione thought. _He can blow up at me, kick me, and curse the day I was born, but he can't force me to help him harvest his stupid, precious blood._

Her victory was short-lived.

Snape _was_ furious. 

He looked first at the ruined potion, then his stained robes, and finally at Hermione. In a single, barely perceptible movement, he whipped out his wand from somewhere in the folds of his robes and uttered a disarming spell that sent her flying across the classroom.

Hermione hit the far wall with a whooshing sound, much the same as when she had tripped and fallen backwards to the linoleum gym floor on Muggle rollerskates as a child. The pain wasn't nearly as acute as the burning feeling in her lungs, and she slid to the floor, gasping for breath.

Mister Malfoy, the Professor intoned calmly, as if nothing had happened, I trust you did think ahead and make enough of this potion for _two_ doses?

_Or he could do all three and still screw me over._

_________________

"Who else is coming tonight?" Lucius asked, his words muffled from the manner in which he was using them on Professor Sinistra's neck.

Patience, darling, Sinistra cooed, stopping the delightful sensation she was sending down his spine long enough to speak. It's meant to be a secret. Besides, she added, curling her manicured fingernails over his back in little circles, Severus had to find someone for the ritual this year. 

Suddenly, Lucius assumed a serious tone and sat upright again, looking straight into the gaze of his lover. Has it been that long already? I didn't think the time would come so quickly.

Sinistra arched an eyebrow. You're disappointed? A smile crept along her lips. I thought fourteen years was plenty of time to quench anyone's thirst for privilege.

Lucius's expression melted into a grin. Not mine.

At that moment, they looked into each other's eyes, and saw the presence of another, one as close to theirs hearts—or loins—as they were to one another.

Is he coming?

Sinistra twirled a bit of Lucius's hair in her finger, toying with it as a cat might play with yarn. All in good time. Now if only you had found a willing acolyte, he wouldn't have to dip into forbidden pools such as ours she gestured in distaste at Hogwarts castle.

Lucius shifted at the feel of something cold and almost wet sliding up his chest between the witch's fingers. I'm afraid that trying to acquire a virgin Dark Arts pupil at Durmstrang is like asking gold to fall from the sky: it only happens when you're sloshed, and even the best of hallucinations are completely useless.

The woman sighed. I suppose we'll have to keep ourselves busy, then, while our dear Professor _works his magic_, as it were She grinned, lifting the dagger under his throat to slowly slice its way through Lucius's shirt from the inside out.

Suddenly, pain. Lightning sharp and fast down his chest, a thin red line welling from the path of the athame. Malfoy's shock faded into pleasure as Sinistra's lips trailed their way downwards to lick at his wound. He hissed.

Do that again, lady, Lucius rasped, and I doubt I shall be able restrain myself from ruining the celebration.

she purred, nuzzling at his ear, hips sliding forwards across the silken fabric of his trousers, inching closer to oblivion. Just a tiny taste? 

With trap set and sprung, Sinistra claimed his mouth for her own.

_________________

Malfoy walked over to where Hermione fell. He knelt down, watching her silently as her breathing evened out.

As soon as she had recovered her senses, Hermione kicked with all her might. Draco's chest thumped against the sole of her shoe, and she started to crawl away.

She didn't get far. Malfoy grabbed her ankles and yanked her backwards, causing her to lose her balance. Hermione searched out the stones in the floor, the walls—anything that she might use as a handhold. But the little left of Hermione's shortened fingernails simply dragged along the smooth granite, proving too painful to continue; the blocks were worn smooth and impossible to grasp.

She slid inexorably toward her predator and whatever fate he had in store for her. He reeled her in, inch by inch up her legs until he could hold her down.

Hermione was sitting braced against the wall like she was before. The only difference was that Draco's dark form now straddled her legs. _Never a good sign,_ she thought.

He picked up the spare vial, unstoppered it with his teeth, and spat the cork out to the side—one hand holding the elixir, the other fighting off her arms.

Hold still, damn it! he yelled, struggling to fend off her attempts to scratch him. In the process of attacking, Hermione ripped most of Draco's sleeve off his left arm. It took her several seconds to stop and stare in horror at the ornate symbols burned into his alabaster skin.

She had never seen Snape's Dark Mark, but Hermiojne knew it was there. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw—the force of evil branded into the flesh, etched above the muscle and sinew, forever a part of the soul. The skull and snake were within a circle of ancient rune symbols, those encircled by yet more languages of the long departed. But no one had told her it was a _living, _moving thing. Constantly shifting as if the eye was watching through sheens of translucent cloth, the numbers and letters faded in and out in a circular pattern. The border was the color of Draco's eyes, the skull's gaze as black as Hell.

It was both beautiful and terrifying.

Malfoy stopped wrestling with her and saw what she was looking at. Little idiot! he hissed in Hermione's ear, forcing her jaw to one side as he placed the arm behind his back. _Do you know what you've done?_

Snape sat on one of the tables, violating his own rules as he watched the scuffle with detached amusement.

I've uncovered the most unsurprising secret at Hogwarts. I've just proved you're the blind git I always knew you to be. I've forced you to reap what you sow—

_That_ made him lose his temper.

_SLAP._

She recovered slowly, staring at him through glassed-over eyes. Then she struck back.

Her nails dug into his arm, drawing blood. Ow! Mudblood bitch! Draco placed a thumb over the vial, his distress over his status with Voldemort apparently forgotten as he roughly seized both of her wrists in succession, forcing them down while his occupied hand fumbled for his wand. Somehow, Malfoy managed to lift his wand in the same hand that held the elixir without spilling a drop of it. 

Several seconds and three clumsy attempts at a binding spell later, Hermione's hands lay tied together with a length of extremely strong twine. You should thank me, Draco muttered, putting away his wand. You were frantic enough to hurt even yourself.

In reply, Hermione straightened and spat directly in his face. You're welcome.

For a moment, she truly believed Draco would strangle her. He wiped off his face with the back of his sleeve, staring at it with a horrified, incredulous expression, as if to exclaim, NOBODY spits on a Malfoy!' _Quite amusing, really_, Hermione decided. _Fancy that, he's actually angrier than Snape._

Malfoy shoved the potion in her face.

Drink it, he snarled when Hermione didn't move.

I'd rather die than take that poison! she screamed back at him.

In her mind, Hermione could predict his response down to the last word: _That can be arranged.'_

The younger Malfoy glared at her, pride and prejudice at war with one another. He sneered, leaning forward. That can be arranged.

Death Eaters were so predictable.

He waited for her to comply for a second time. When she still refused to take the potion, his eyes narrowed into slits of steel. Have it your way, then, Draco whispered softly, the softness of his voice almost belying the rage in his gaze.

Without warning, Hermione's air supply cut off. She was dimly aware of his cold fingers pinching her nose, barely drawing a gasp before she had to close her mouth to avoid the vial's noxious contents.

She felt the glass pressing relentlessly against her lips, trying to force them to open. Meanwhile, ten seconds elapsed as she writhed and twisted, desperately trying to get away from Draco's present.' The air she had ran out too quickly. If only she could duck to one side, or kick him

Her mouth came apart, Hermione trying to suck her top lip over the lower one. But Malfoy seized his chance, shoving the tip of the vial forcefully between her teeth, the other hand loosing her nose to yank her head backwards by the hair.

Caught in the most submissive, vulnerable stance possible, entwined in what one could construe as little more than a death grip, Hermione sobbed in defeat. The warm liquid was a repulsive intrusion. It spilled down her throat, and Draco wouldn't release her until she had swallowed the last gulp. Her stomach threatened to rebel; the potion violated her senses as she sputtered to breathe, _breathe_

and she caught a glimpse of Severus Snape's unabashed elation just before the effects of the elixir took hold.

I think we can release Miss Granger nowif she so wishes.

Hermione could only manage half a nod as she sagged to the floor, barely noticing as Draco released her hands from their spell.

The stuffy feeling in her head intensified once again, and her limbs felt weighted. Peaceful and placid thoughts broke in waves, washing over her like the tide. She was not tired, merely relaxed, basking in the stillness of the night air, floating somewhere between the conscious and the dream world. Her whole body tingled with awareness, the sensitivity spreading like raindrops on her skin from her head to her fingertips.

Everything was _dancing_

Hermione couldn't remember what was said, but Snape gave Draco a few hurried instructions and retreated temporarily into his office. And then Malfoy had taken her hand, and she rose to her feet, having neither will nor way to resist, no urge to fight him at all

There was a cabinet, and Draco pulled on a dusty jar, and suddenly there were stairs, and they were descending into darkness.

_________________

Draco emerged in the Slytherin common room behind a tapestry of a forest mural. He clamped his hand over Hermione's mouth as footsteps crept past their hiding place. A squeal of excitement, loud kisses and moans, and the slamming of a door on distant stairs, and they were alone.

Dimly, Hermione started to object. _I should have cried out, stomped on his foot, said something, but I didn't. I should have said something._

She must have spoken her thoughts aloud. No, you shouldn't have, Draco said quietly, leading her towards a large door with the golden letters HEAD PREFECT stamped on it.

Malfoy pulled her inside and shut the door. It was an expansive, single suite, filled with green and silver decorations, but Hermione was too dazed to regard anything that required detail or specific description. 

Why are we here? To prepare you for the ceremony, Draco replied calmly, enunciating each word slowly as if lecturing a small child. I keep some supplies I need here, and you need preparation, he finished.

She swayed on her feet, nearly losing her balance.

Draco noticed that she was about to fall. Watch it, precious, he intoned smoothly, catching her and setting her down on the edge of his bed. Wouldn't want you hitting your head and ruining the surprise.

_My headso dizzy_ Hermione slouched sideways, curling up on one side on the bedspread. Every word was a monumental effort. 

Malfoy smirked as he sorted through several small potions bottles and canisters of dried herbs. You'll see.

He found the selections he was looking for quickly, and turned back to her. How do you like my suite, Hermione? I know it wouldn't be your ideal choice of décor, but I thought something that said Slytherin' without saying square' ought to do nicely 

She didn't answer. But then again, he hadn't expected her to.

Of course, he cocked his head to one side, I'm always open to fashion suggestions.

Comforter is comfyfilthy bastard she mumbled, struggling to fight off nausea.

Draco watched her squirm in discomfort on his bed, a flash of something else wholly different sparking in his eyes. Feel free to visit anytime, and you can lie on them all you like.

Hermione rolled too far, unceremoniously spilling off the bed in a plop.

He knelt down, dragging her to her feet. Draco began, Normally you're supposed to be an active participant in the anointing process. However, he noted bemusedly, fighting down a chuckle as she swayed back and forth, I'm more than happy to oblige you.

Malfoy stooped down, retrieving another object previously hidden from sight, identical to the one Sinistra held at that very moment. He held the dagger aloft, and Hermione couldn't tell if it was his teeth or the silver that grinned at her in the moonlight that seeped through the curtains.

But first, Draco continued, stepping forward to play with the edge of her robes on her shoulder, these will have to go. He ripped her robes open, exposing her casual outfit underneath.

And the knife flashed down.

  


* * *

[1] Translation:_ She herself would wish to ask you, if she might bend [your] chastity...You might associate among crowds to go through your glens, among flowery garlands, among myrtle shelters...Neither Ceres, nor Bacchus are absent...The entire night is to be occupied, to be kept awake all night with songs...and soon she gives a chaste virgin from a sanctuary to Mars...Pleasure fertilizes (abounds in) the country-sides..._ From The Vigil of Venus, Anonymous.


	4. Whatever You Do, Don't Panic!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I sincerely apologize for how long it took to post this chapter. My computer crashed and had to rewrite the entire ending. Then, on my trip to Colorado, a thunderstorm in Ohio leaked through the top of our RV and ruined the last ten pages or so, so I wrote them over AGAIN...Luckily, I have an excellent memory. I split the final chapter up into two parts (yes, you'll have to wait a few hours to find out everything. I am a cruel mistress!) because it was too long, and I felt that if I skipped this section, there would be too many unanswered questions. Bear with me. Chapter Five is almost typed up and should be posted before Christmas, because DAMN, have you guys waited long enough. 

Needless to say, this is the last time I ever write out a story by hand. *rolls eyes at self*

I'd also like to state for the record that while this is a non-con fic, I certainly do not endorse rapefic with women who "enjoy it," if you get my drift. My interpretation of Hermione, and J.K. Rowlings', imho, suggest that Ron and Hermione, even Ginny, may someday be targets (to lesser degree than this, most likely) because of their affiliation with Harry. I worry for them. (And Snape. Just not in this story.)

Finally, although many traditional Wiccan and pagan ritualistic elements exist in this portion of the text, please keep in mind that the Death Eaters are PERVERTING them. Almost everything they do violates the Wiccan Rede. 

That is all. Enjoy.

*~Carpe Noctem~*

Tourniquette

Part IV

The first thing Hermione felt when she awoke was cold. A rush of air over her body, reducing her skin to goosebumps. She wanted to stretch, to find a blanket to cover herself, but even the concept of shivering seemed like too much of an effort to make. She simply wanted to drift back to sleep, to dwell in this languor of semi-consciousness, the realm between waking life and her dreams...

Hermione sighed and settled deeper into the silk duvet, savoring the scent of jasmine that surrounded her.

_Silk? Jasmine?_

"Ah. You're awake."

Memories came flooding back, hermind playing with the strange events of the evening until logic could make sense of them. _There was a room-- no, Snape's classroom, and a fight of some kind...forbidden words...someone slashing buttons off her blouse with a knife...and a long winding staircase into the dark..._

_Draco._

Hermione managed to turn her head sideways towards the voice. It felt as if she was rolling a mound of canvas. A bone cracked in her neck, and she cringed. Well, half-_kicking_, half-rolling.

He was standing with his back turned to her, struggling into some sort of white garment with his lower body still clothed. She had a glimpse of arm muscles flexing and a washboard stomach as he swiveled towards her again. _Surprise, surprise. So why am I more sickened than swooning?_

The younger Malfoy threw the rest of his garment over his body, straightening it. Underneath, he relieved himself of his trousers and belt, kicked off his shoes and socks, reached for his wand and pointed it at her before she could gasp. _"Ennervate Minimissima."_

Suddenly, Hermione could move--but only in slow, sluggish bursts of energy. She found her vocal chords intact, though, however tired the voice that emanated from them sounded. "Ferret Boy, I don't know what the Hell your problem is, or why you've concocted some elaborate scheme to get me into your bed while unconscious, but believe me when I say that I want no part of it."

Draco shrugged, "Suit yourself," and proceeded to examine some bottles and flasks sitting on his bureau. She stared at him for a moment, then dragged her limbs to the edge of the bed. For the second time in one night, Hermione succeeded in falling out of the giant bed and onto the hardwood floor.

_Gee, this feels familiar._

It was only then that Hermione realized she was stark naked, with no idea of where her clothes went.

"Your clothes are thoroughly ruined, I'm afraid," he said as if reading her thoughts, still absorbed in his mixtures. "But the door's wide open, if you insist on leaving so abruptly." Draco shoved a lock of blond hair out of his eyesight, pouring one liquid into another as he spoke. "I was rather looking forward to discussing...a great many things with you."

"My wand," she gritted her teeth. _"Where. Is. It."_

"In the Slytherin Common Room, above the fire on the mantlepiece."

Such a simple answer. He had to be lying. Perhaps he thought she would be too mortified to risk someone seeing her in her birthday suit?

Not likely.

Hermione rose unsteadily to her feet. She yanked the sheet out from underneath the comforter, wrapping it around herself like a makeshift toga. Her brain felt like it had just taken a rollercoaster ride with the most obnoxious hills and turns in the park, and her eyes were pounding.

She shot Draco one last withering look, knowing something was afoot but too furious and feverish to care. He simply folded his arms, watching.

Her footsteps were uneven at best. The stones, polished smooth and slightly loose from centuries of Slytherins gliding past in leather boots, shifted in their molding. Hermione reached one arm out, reaching for the doorframe to steady herself. She put one foot across the threshold--

--Nothing.

She did nothing, didn't even jolt at running into an invisible brick wall. Hermione was stuck, in every sense of the word: her body would not respond, because she could not command her own limbs. 

She was Petrified, and he hadn't even uttered a word.

"Impressed, Granger?" Draco asked nonchalantly. "Of course, you won't be able to answer that, although I'm sure you're curious as to how your body is in an actual state of suspension, as opposed to falling over face first, stiff as a board."

Hermione blinked. Tried to blink. Maybe breaking the spell required some sort of telekinetic burst of energy, such as the kind of wandless projection he had used on her. _So if I imagine serving Draco one in the groin and giving him the finger..._

No such luck.

"Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Do you remember that little larf, Granger?" the younger Malfoy drawled in his most irritating of aristocratic dialects. "If I recall correctly, all of the Mudbloods at my public school used to try and make people float around the classroom. Wanted to share dirty little secrets with the Muggle population." He snorted in contempt. "Roundheaded twits."

"I've found that the basic principle of the game is, in fact, based in magick," he continued, walking around her frozen form, standing as if to inspect a sculpture in the Museum of Antiquities. "Elemental magick requires three basic components: work, will and wandless magick. Will is simply the intent of the wizard, or how badly they want something to happen. Primal energy doesn't simply spring forth out of nowhere, you know. You have to desire the outcome above all else at that moment, and when acting upon another person, subject them to your will. Work is self-explanatory. Wandless magick is the actual incantation required." 

He reached out to wiggle her foot, testing to see if she would collapse. "You know," Draco continued in amazement, "I didn't master basic intermediate elemental magick like levitation until my fourth year, but was it ever worth the wait." 

_"Down." _He gestured with his hand, and she resumed a standing position, still frozen. Despite the drugs, her eyes still flashed with unspoken fury.

"So modest, Granger," Draco purred. "But for once, I trusted the judgement of one more experienced than I in judging your assets." He ripped the sheet off of her and turned back to his arrangment of mixtures.

Hermione blinked. What was he talking about?

"When Snape and I first became lovers," he continued, bringing a pot of a cerulean-colored substance to his nose for inspection, "we used to size up the sexual potential of the students in Advanced Potions. Apparently, you never bothered to keep your robes on during cleanups or those detentions you served with Weasley in sixth year." Draco snorted. "Dear Sev was so fascinated with the glimpses of your chest and the way your blouse clung to your wet skin one week that he apparently gave an entire class of first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws A's on their final projects."

She started in shock and disgust. Her teacher was sexually interested in her? What if he was lying just to keep her distracted? Was anything worth believing at this point, even if it served no purpose other than to cloud her mind with perverse thoughts and weaken her defenses? Did she really want to hear any more of the bile that spewed from this hypocrite's golden-tongued mouth? Even if it wasn't useful as testimony later?

_Hell yes._

"I was skeptical that you could have anything to offer that a willing Slytherin wouldn't, what with being a filthy Mudblood and all, although neither of us doubted the sincerity of your repressed sexual desires." He dipped a finger into the goopy substance, stepping even closer to her naked flesh, pausing as if considering the next words to form with the utmost care. "But...even Malfoys aren't perfect all of the time."

Hermione wished she could roll her eyes.

Suddenly, Draco straightened, and his entire demeanor transformed. It was as if a veil of the unseen clouded his eyes, and he bent down, kneeling before her with the blue paste, dipping his index finger in it.

And then it touched her skin.

If the spell for Mobilicorpus could affect the soul without the body, then that wouldn't even come close to what this felt like. It was as if a thousand forces were pulling her in a thousand different directions, tugging at her being, the very essence that was Hermione Granger. Her throat was parched; she long for the sea; her limbs ached to fly, to be one with the wind, and blow away into nothing.

Dimly, far way from the place she occupied, Hermione was aware of Draco, drawing ancient symbols on her body--some astrological, most in the Runic word, and a few of the forbidden language of Magick itself. She had only seen them written out once before, and it was in one of the oldest books in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' Library. 

Far more disturbing were the words he dared to speak. The Old Norse of the Druids.

_Þurs ríst eg þér   
og þrjá stafi,   
ergi og æði   
og óþola;   
svo eg það af ríst   
sem eg það á reist,   
ef gerast þarfar þess. [1]_

She hissed, knowing that he was binding her to the traditions of the land, manipulating the verses to suit his will...or Snape's...or whoever's damnable idea this hellbent scheme was in the first place. 

He ignored the slight lapse in the power of his spell, knowing the powers of the current incantation would keep her from escaping. Hermione tried to ignore the feel of his finger, dripping the cool liquid across her bare abdomen...

_Ølrvnar scaltv kvnna,   
ef þv vill annars qven   
velit þic i trygd, ef þv trvir;   
a horni scal þer rista   
oc a handar baki   
oc merkia a nagli Naþ. [2]_

After what seemed like an eternity of looking at herself though a window, frozen in place and helpless and Malfoy drew fetility circles on her breasts, she returned to herself, and with a flash of pain slumped to the ground. Draco drew a single rune on the back of his hand and on a curved drinking horn sitting on the bureau beside them, both with the blue dye.

"Drink this," he ordered, pouring what looked like brandywine into the horn and pressing it to her lips. He remembered himself, cursed quietly, and forced her jaw open. The liquid burned down her throat, much like the one before. This time, there was no resistance on her part.

The symbols on her body flashed neon for a second or two, and Hermione caught a glimpse of similar glyphs on Malfoy's body under his shift. Like a vapour, the light fragmented and feaded into nothingness. The evanescence of a kiss.

He dressed her in the same white cloth, blinfolded her, and shoved her through the door.

_________________

"Get up, you half-arsed excuse for a Muggle pimp."

"Why, Severus, it's a pleasure to see you, too."

"Just get off of her and get dressed, Malfoy."

Lucius smirked in a manner not unlike his son otfen did, rolling off of the teacher sprawled amidst the bushes at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Sinistra flicked a leaf out of her raven hair and smiled angelically at Snape. "Give a lady a hand up?"

Sinistra never had one sleeve out of place. She managed to stay calm and cool in every situation, whether it was shagging Lucius senseless like a peasant in her master's stables or throwing the most potent of dark curses at multiple targets. After knowing her most of his adult life, like the Malfoys, she was still as much a mystery as when he first met her. Unlike Lucius, the only weakness he knew of to date was her pride. She would rather die than kneel for anyone.

And of course, she had no equal in bed. Probably one of the family perks. She was too good to be true--which likely explained why a large number of her lovers vanished without a trace.

He sighed inwardly and held out his hand.

Sinistra rose gracefully, steadying herself on Lucius' shoulder."I expect my son has been obedient...in all things?" the elder Malfoy inquired casually, stroking her cheek. His blue-green eyes shone in the dark, an indicator of the supernatural forces at work about them. Snape wondered if Sinistra had done some "warmup" exercises without telling either of them.

"Naturally." The Potions master's response was curt.

"I am counting on you, my _friend_," Lucius purred, baring his teeth in a feral smile at the emphasis of the last word, "to teach Draco to excel in those skills most pertinent to our cause. He may yet live to surpass his father and repay the debt owed to his name."

_He already has, you twit,_ Severus thought silently. Out loud, he said, "Perhaps."

They donned the appropriate robes and costumes in silence, daring each other to look but not touch. There wasn't one among them who didn't have to fight temptation.

Snape secretly wondered if their little _menage à trois _was going to be the death of them. He was certainly going to die if he were forced to accomodate less skilled lovers. Death Eaters really outdid themselves sometimes. Of course, a change in taste might do his old habits good...

It was times like these that he wondered why he fought the darkness creeping over him anymore. Sinistra knew what side she was fighting for. But she would die for Dumbledore and in the meanwhile, enjoy the ride. Provided that Lucius didn't find out and vaporize them first, of course.

_So, Severus, what's it going to be? Where do your loyalties lie?_

He wasn't sure he knew anymore. 

That was the problem. He did know, however, that his wish to hurt that infernal wonderboy Potter was about to come to fruition.

The trio stared out over the vast expanse of the lake, drawn to the orange glow of candlelight, muted by stained glass windows. The sounds of laughter and music floated across the waters.

Hogwarts Castle.

In the long shadow the hall cast upon the earth, two figures stepped from a hollow tree and began to move towards them.

_________________

Hermione was too numb from the drugs to react strongly when Draco dragged her through yet another secret passageway. But when the carved door in the oak swung open to reveal a vast expanse of field and he started dragging her towards the woods, panic took hold in the recesses of her mind and pushed its way to the surface.

"Let me go!" she cried, shoving her heel down on the broad part of her foot and kneed him in the groin with the other leg. 

It caught Draco by surprise. He howled in agony and slumped forward. 

The momentary lapse in control was all she needed. Hermione pushed him over and scrambled in his robes for his wand. Finding her prize, she lifted the shaft of cherry wood out of his reach. She leaned over towards his face, still contorted in pain, and hissed, "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I'm a pacifist. Arrogant, presumptuous bastard."

Then, just for effect, she spat on him again.

Dizzy but still able to run, Hermione scrambled over the roots and moss sticking up around them, turning long enough to cast a hasty _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ at Malfoy. The spell shot unsteadily out from the wand, and what felt like a mild static shock shot up her arm, but the orange arc reached its target nonetheless. She inspected the wand hastily as her feet pounded over the dry grass. The near-ebony wood was punctuated with a red, green and black core, the colors swirled together like a pinwheel. 

Not sensing any immediate threat, Hermione cursed silently. If she were to try any powerful spells, the hexes Malfoy had probably placed on the wand for protection could very well burn her arm off. It was too much of a risk to use someone else's wand without any foreknowledge of what might occur. 

Hermione did the next best thing. She broke it in half.

The force from the explosion that ensued blew her backwards several yards and momentarily blinded her. When she had recovered sufficiently to sit up, Hermione shook her ears out to stop the ringing. Then she looked down at the pieces.

The core had liquified, and each component was glowing, little rivulets streaking across her palms like lava descends a mountain.

"Bugger," she exclaimed, immediately heaving the pieces of wand as far away from her as possible and swabbing her skin on the grass, trying to wipe the poison off. "Little shit must have put a self-destruct charm on it."

She knew what they were planning. Hermione had read about the medieval version of the Beltane rites, and there was no way in heaven or on earth that she would consent to the mockery of nature they had in store for her. She was almost to the doors...

"Going somewhere?"

...only to stop in horror, frozen in her tracks.

Standing on the topmost step, eyes flashing in the moonlight and cloak curled around his crossed arms to flow and blend in with the blackness at his feet, was Severus Snape.

_________________

Harry Potter was restless. _Typical of that git teacher to give Hermione a detention on a holiday,_ he thought scornfully. He shuddered as he tried to imagine having to spend, two--no, maybe even three--hours in the combined presence of the slimy 'Poisons' Professor and the Demon Ferret From Hell. It was enough to send the hardiest Gryffindor's skin crawling.

He sighed and tugged at his robes. _Man, it's hot in here. I'm tipsy enough as it is._

He turned suddenly to whom he thought was Ron, swaying and nearly losing his balance. "Ron, have you seen Hermione come back from the dungeons yet? It's half-past eleven already."

The youngest of the Weasleys turned and glared at him. "Honestly, Harry," Ginny glared, "I hope you can tell the difference from the front of if not from the back when my hair is up!"

Harry slapped himself mentally. "Sorry, Ginny," he apologized, kissing her on the cheek. "I must've had more spiked punch than I thought."

"The punch wasn't spiked. Ron's been pouring vodka into your pumpkin juice all day."

"Oh. Right. That."

Ginny looked incredulous. "You didn't notice? Lavender was laughing so hard she was snorting pancakes."

Harry scratched his head. "I thought my drinks tasted sour today! I was wondering about that."

"You should've seen yourself dancing on the table with Millicent earlier."

He scoffed. "I would like to point out that Ron paid me good money for that."

"Whatever."

Shrugging, he flashed her a debonair smile and moved through the crowds, weaving his way towards one of the large windows at the side of the hall. _I desperately need some air._

He pulled at the iron latch at the side and was about to open it, when a flash of light in the corner of his vision caught his attention.

Harry peered through the dusty glass. A figure was lying on the ground, looking petrified. Several yards away, a smaller person rose from the grass and started to sprint towards the castle on shaky legs. He hadn't seen either face, but the long brown hair was clearly visible in the light, even at more than a story above ground.

"Hermione," he whispered, and Harry dashed out the noisy Great Hall, a feeling of dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.

_________________

Hermione took a step backwards, crouched in a defensive position, ready to take flight at the drop of a pin. Snape was reminded of an injured tiger cub who had just watched its family die.

"You're being extremely uncooperative this evening, Miss Granger," he purred, allowing the ghost of a smirk to grace his lips. "Mr. Malfoy certainly has had his share of trouble with taming you, hasn't he?"

When she didn't answer, he chuckled. "I am very disappointed in you, Hermione. I really had thought that your keen intellect would have seen through this whole charade from the start." Snape was slowly advancing on her, step by silent step. "Although I must shamefully admit, I am delighted you did not."

She had the distinct feeling Mina Harker might have had--moments before Dracula descended upon her and shrouded her world in death for the first time.

He was barely three paces from snatching her arms when one of the great double-doors banged open and a young man burst outside.

_"Get away from her, Snape."_

Harry's voice was laced with venom, but both Hermione and the Professor were focused on his wand. It was pointed at Severus' heart.

_________________

"This is ridculous," Sinistra seethed. "Wrapping her up and owling her here would have been faster."

"Patience, sweet," Lucius replied, pausing to light up a thin cigarette. "If we need to take more precautions to avoid detection, so be it." He exhaled, frowning at the rolled paper in his hands. "Honestly, I don't see why those Muggles get such a kick out of these things. They don't even get you high, and they're more expensive than a cheap lay in Knockturn Alley."

"Don't be crass, Luci." Sinistra began chanting and lifted her arms to the sky. He back away a few paces at the familiar prickling that began on the nape of his neck and travelled down his spine. He may have had veela ancestors, but the Malfoys were not taught the magic of the Hill People. As mediocre as her overall power might be, Sinistra still had a few nasty tricks up her sleeves. When her eyes had paled completely and Lucius' hair was practically standing on end, she lowered them again. Instantly, the entire hillside, Hogwarts included, was covered with fog.

Lucius raised one eyebrow and unconsciously took another drag. "Nice touch."

She allowed herself a grin. "I know."

He sleared his throat. "If you don't mind my asking, how will Severus know where to find us?"

"Because all paths meet here."

_________________

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm as he looked over his shoulder at Harry. "It's the Boy Who Has An Innately Bad Sense of Timing."

Harry gritted his teeth and strode forward. "I said, LET HER GO. I won't repeat myself again."

The Potions master raised an eyebrow. "You dare to talk to one of your professors in this insolent fashion? I ought to have you expelled for pointing your wand at me--little good it will do you notwithstanding."

Harry gave a grim smile, never lowering his arm. "Somehow, I seriously doubt that Dumbledore would agree."

"And why is that?" Snape replied. "Miss Granger here fled her duty of serving detention. I only just apprehended her and was escorting her back to the dungeons--"

"Don't listen to him! He's lying!" Hermione whimpered hysterically, "They were going to use me in an ancient Beltane ritual. Please, Harry..." she intoned, trailing off.

Drunken as he was, Harry still managed to dive out of the way as the first of several curses shot forth from Snape's wand. He leaped off the remainingstone steps, simultaneously hurling a few of his own spells. Hermione ducked as the red blast from a _Supefy!_ zinged past, mere inches from her head.

Crouching low to the ground, Hermione momentarily reflected on Harry's improved skills with grim satisfaction. _If Professor Lupin hadn't taught him to duel--_

Someone had shouted _"Silencio!"_ and the entire battle continued without sound. She watched as Snape and Harry threw various curses and countercurses at each other, their wand moving so fast it made her head spin. Harry's mentor would have been proud. Hermione had hoped the crowd in the Great Hall would have noticed the flashes of light by now, but she could see in a glance that a fog was making quick work of that option. She had to reach the door--

But it had already shut of its own accord. Someone grabbed her shoulders and yanked her arms behind her back. "Don't even think about it," warned Draco, his breath hot in her ear. She shuddered.

"Not that bad, for an amateur," the Professor laughed. "How nice to know you can teach an old dog new tricks--or in this case a dead dog's prodigy,"

Harry snarled and whipped his wand in an arc. _"Crucio!"_

Snape dived to his right, but not fast enough. The blast caught his leg and enveloped him in reddish-gold flames. He gurgled and writhed on the ground.

Harry was going to leave him to rot like that, just as he was. The bastard deserved every second of pain, every spasmodic jerk. But cursing Snape into oblivion wouldn't help Hermione.

As if on cue, a scream ripped through the dense, night air. Harry snapped to attention at the sound. Malfoy struck Hermione again. She crumpled to the ground, lying motionless. Harry immediately ended the curse, cast a quick body-binding spell, and rushed to her side. Malfoy was wandless, and Harry subdued him dismissively with a quick _Stupefy!_ and knelt to lift Hermione's head. _Breathing--she has to be breathing--_

Hermione rolled out of his grasp, coughing violently. Harry sighed in relief.

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, Potter," a voice snarled from behind him. _Snape?!?_

"You still have much to learn about the Unforgivables. One: hatred helps tremendously. Two: never leave your victim unattended, because if he recovers, he'll likely be irate enough to break any restraints you may have cast on him." Snape had his wand on the back of Harry's neck. "Three," he smiled crookedly. "Three: Death Eaters have remarkable powers of recuperation."

He snatched Harry's wand out of reach and pocketed it in the folds of his robes. "Oh, don't look so forlorn, Potter," the Potions master said, irritated by the murderous look Harry was shooting at him. "You can have it back later."

Without any further discussion, Harry found that he couldn't move. He and Hermione were frozen in place, kneeling and clutching at each other like deer in headlights. _Not exactly the Kodak moment I was hoping for,_ Harry thought miserably.

"Draco," Snape motioned, and Harry noticed with dismay that Malfoy was not only fully-functional, but striding towards them as if nothing had happened. "There's been a slight change in plans. Would you be so kind as to escort Mister Potter to our little _soirée?"_

"With pleasure," Draco sneered, his usual demeanor firmly in place. He levitated Harry's body laterally. Harry made no move to fight him. He _couldn't._

"Now, Miss Granger. If I unbind you, will you be a good little witch and stay still, or am I going to have to make this embarrassing?" He released her so that she could answer. Reeling from the effects of the drugs but still pushed on by adrenaline and fear, Hermione scrambled away on all fours. Snape watched dispassionately, as if he was watching a burning ant under a magnifying glass.

She travelled three feet at most.

Snape's arm shot out, yanking her to her feet. He pulled Hermione flush against his body, quelling her struggles in a vice-like grip. "You may be able to distract a students of the Dark Arts into breaking his concentration," he purred against her hair, "but I can assure you, that particular feat will prove impossible with me."

"You're a sadistic, insufferable bastard, _Snivellus_," Harry spat as he floated by. Apparently, Draco enjoyed listening to his prey mouth off. "If you were always this bad, then I understand why everyone chose to torment you."

He had struck a nerve. Snape paused and turned slowly toward the figure floating ahead of him. "So that's what you believe, is it?" he asked quietly.

"As of tonight? Yes. Voldemort may be a schizophrenic megalomaniac with unspeakable power and delusions of grandeur, but even he's not so utterly _malignant_ just for the hell of it."

Severus parted his lips in a grin devoid of mirth. "Really, Potter. Such harsh words. I prefer to call it _morally challenged."_

"Now, I _was_ going to be merciful and let Miss Granger's punishment be a private affair. However, I fear that Mister Potter's gall will require active participation." With that, he swung back to Hermione. _"Imperio."_

1. A þurs rune I write for thee   
and three more staves,   
lust and rage   
and loathing;   
I shall carve them off   
just as I wrote them on,   
if I find a need thereof.

2. Ale runes you should know, if another's woman   
betrays your faith, whom you had trusted,   
on a drinking horn write it and on the back of your hand,   
and mark on your nails the rune nauðR.


	5. My One Regret

**Carpe Noctem: My One Regret.**

by Tourniquette

**Author's Note:** Despite someone mentioning that this is archived elsewhere, many people don't see to realize this, so I'm posting the final installment here. This was finished way back in 2005. 

**Warnings:** There's some slash, and of course, the potential squicks are all for this chapter, as well. Non-con, rape, mild orgy, bastardization of the Pagan ritual Beltane. (My apologies to Pagans--I know May Day is supposed to be a happy holiday. But when the muse calls, what can you do?)

**Carpe Noctem**

**Part V: My One Regret.**

Their measured footfalls, padding on dead leaves of winters past, were the only sounds in the forest for what seemed like miles. _Don't panic, _the soothing voice in her mind told her, and she felt much calmer, as if her body would obey the slightest suggestion. Hermione felt abnormally serene--until a chorus of sinister laughter echoed around her head like a flurry of chaotic, drunken bubbles, overcoming all rational thought until her brain screamed for her to bang her head against a tree in case the trauma might prove medicinal. 

Hermione longed to glare daggers at Snape. He was obviously the source of the self-satisfied sounds of mirth, and he was none too remorseful, at that. 

She wondered momentarily if Draco had the skill to levitate Harry all the way through the forest without ramming any suspended limbs or appendages against a tree trunk. She couldn't find out, of course, because Snape was making her feet move. 

The grove they eventually emerged in was surrounded by silent figures in black robes and pale masks that shone like marble and onyx monoliths in the pale and sickly light of the moon. Snape stopped Granger in the centre of the clearing; Draco set Harry down using his wand. Someone behind her draped roses and--what were those? --Bluebells in her hair. Rose incense. Rose petals sprinkled before her feet. The person stepped out from behind and faced Hermione. 

It was another Death Eater; that much was certain. It was also most definitely a woman. Instead of a mask like the others, however, she wore a full-length black, gauzy veil. Harry, observing from the sidelines, had a sudden and fleeting vision of Mundungus Fletcher wearing a dress in the Hog's Head Inn. This struck him as oddly funny. 

The woman produced a circlet of dried blossoms, raising it above Hermione's head before lowering the ring onto her hair. 

Then they were chanting around her, singing at one time in the Old Way of speaking, at another in Latin, next Greek, and finally in the very language of magic itself, uttering words in the forbidden speech. She shuddered again as Snape temporarily removed the Imperius Curse, staring at the veiled woman, who took Hermione's long fingers in her own gloved ones. Suddenly, she was _in _the dance, pulled to and fro, caught in a form of magic altogether different but no less demanding. She was weaving in and out, holding onto the lady's hand for dear life, feeling dizzy and sickened from the frenzied pace. There were some ten or so Death Eaters performing around her; the rest remained on the edge of the grove, trapping them in. 

Hermione caught sight of Harry once, and his eyes were lucid and wide, his mouth forming silent words that blended into the background noise. The dancers made their own music, drawn out of the very air. 

Harry stood beyond the edge of the circle, Snape's vice-like grip having closed around his shoulders as another man tied his hands roughly behind his back. Even he had some idea of what they were doing to Hermione, and he had no intention of letting their ceremony continue uninterrupted. 

"Hermione!" he shouted. "Don't give in. Block out the words from your mind--they have more power if you listen. Please, Hermione, please--" His voice came out in a sharp whisper. Snape uttered a snort of derision. Harry saw his friend look at him once, like a little girl, wandering forlorn in the woods. It was as if he spoke in tongues for all the good it did her. 

Even as he watched in utter disbelief, the simple words and path were bending her will to theirs. 

Her soul had already lost. 

From far away outside of her body, Hermione saw herself drawn into the centre of the circle. The dancers parted, and a lone figure approached her. She sensed his presence before she saw him, for his spiritual mantle hung between them like a weight attached to strings, and as gravity pulled it into place, their bodies followed. He was fair, with light skin, his expression blank. Imperius at work again. 

There was little left to assume save that this man was the reason she stood there, vested in raiment not her own, participating in a ritual both strange and new to her. She was incredibly tired, so weary of following the veiled lady and keeping up with the dance. _I need to lie down and rest. I need to sleep. I need someone to hold me, take me underground—_

She started, shaking her head as if to clear it. _Where did those thoughts come from?_ But she had no time to wonder, because the woman had released her hand, and the young man was touching her cheek, stroking her skin with his knuckles ever so gently, and as she stared into his eyes, shining ivory and aquamarine, she heard the words that lay heavy in her thoughts flow over them both, surfacing from the distant past that lay in the rites. Fear coiled in the pit of her stomach as she shuddered at the thoughts she did not want to have— 

_All I ever wanted was to fulfil my promise, this promise of light and dark, I will suffer to be taken away… let me partake in you, and you shall partake in me…_

He pulled Hermione's arms across the yard's length in front of him, drawing her forward, closing the space between them. Then his lips were on hers, hot and insistent, his mouth disarming her as no magic could. Ironic that he was under a spell. 

Inside, she knew dimly that this was not merely some handsome stranger whom she was following, but her sworn enemy, Draco Malfoy. The drugs fogged her mind once more, and his kiss cut down her doubts, her hesitations, and the warning bells in her head, burning bridges already crossed. She was the face that launched a thousand ships, yet was she not also on fire like the topless towers of Ilium? 

Her first real kiss, the first tender embrace of her fledgling life. His hands were in her hair, his hands smoothing away the strands of ebony from her pale skin as water retreats from moonstone in a dark pond. Her knees buckled; she was so weak and unprepared for this kind of assault--an attack of tenderness. He was gentle with steel underneath his fingertips, hesitant but unyielding, and she knew instantly that the magic had a hold on him as well as the curse. His arms wrapped around her waist to support her as Hermione struggled to draw air into her lungs. 

Hades claims Persephone. 

Then he was half-lifting, half-carrying her away from the circle and beyond it. 

It was barely visible in the mist and gloom of the witching hour. A dais, three steps up, four torches pushing back the fog, keeping the night at bay. Draco nodded to the masked man standing guard over the tent and motioned for him to part the gauzy curtains for them. Hermione ducked her head to pass, dazedly wondering why the king of the underworld himself would bother with Death Eaters as guards. Then, as she smelled the sandalwood laced with vanilla, witnessed the hawthorn branches hanging over Snape's head, gazed upon the bed with her own eyes--no, the _altar _--she knew once more. And screamed. 

Severus and Lucius instantly darted forward to seize her arms, dragging her thrashing and kicking body forward. 

The bed was indeed an altar. The upper half of it had cushioning, even a silk pillowcase for her head. The bottom half, however, consisted of only thin, woven straps of leather-like netting. Below it, she could see a stone basin. A flattened chalice with magical inscriptions lining the rim. And on either side of the bed, two sets of leather and metal wrist restraints. Shackles, if one could call them that. 

"Bastard!" she hissed at Snape, finally understanding the sacrifice he expected her to make. _Over my dead body, _she thought. _No chance in HELL. _

"Now, now," the Potions master tsk-ed, hauling her up roughly by the shoulders as Malfoy Sr. lifted her by her legs, swinging her onto the altar. "You of all people, Miss Granger, should know how wise it is to make promises you cannot keep." He was practically grinning as he tightened the first wrist restraint and forced her other fist down to the bed. Lucius was repeating the process with her legs, albeit reluctantly. He looked as though he loathed the very thought of touching her. Snape finished his task and moved away. 

"What's the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione tried to jeer. "Guilty conscience? Or is it that you can't stand to be so near Muggle-born skin?" 

He scowled at her, striding forward, and it looked like he just might lose control and strike her. 

"Lucius," a soft voice warned him, firm as steel. 

It was the dark lady again, ethereal and sensuous, gliding over the stone platform to the girl and her temporary charge. Apparently, Snape and Draco were busy elsewhere. Presumably with Potter. Lucius frowned, but he stayed his hand, preferring to rejoin the company outside. 

Hermione was weeping. The veiled woman saw this and wiped away her tears with a clean handkerchief. "Shh," she crooned softly, stroking the girl's hair and lifting it out from under her neck, spreading the brown tresses across the silk-covered pillow above Hermione's head. 

"Why are you doing this?" A terror-induced candour, desperation overriding the inclination to keep silly questions to herself. 

"Because he asked me to," the lady answered simply. It was unclear as to whom the 'he' referred. "It is my duty." She brought out a sickle knife, much like the one Draco owned, and began the process of stripping her bare. Cloth by cloth, Hermione's white shift opened, baring her nude form to the humid atmosphere. More symbols, drawn over the first ones, like the cave paintings near the ancient site of Caerleon. The Horned One, Cerunnos, his phallus tall and proud, drawn on her belly. Blue symbols of fertility and young life on her legs. Hermione whimpered. 

The dark lady sighed and picked up a silver chalice at the bedside, tilting Granger's head and holding her upright so that she could drink. 

Pomegranate juice. Pomegranate juice...and something else she could not distinguish--But as soon as the liquid touched her tongue, her nakedness was forgotten for the earlier feelings of euphoria under Snape's potion, and the dizziness returned full-force. 

"Feel better?" the woman purred. 

"Yes." Hermione's voice was slightly slurred. _Fast-acting. Extremely fast. _"But now I'm dizzy again--" 

"Don't worry about that, dear. It'll be finished and done with soon enough." _She is young. But then, they are all young when they were chosen. _It was the way of things. She would serve, whether willing or not. That was the rule. Luckily, they had found a willing virgin to play the male role as well. 

Draco had never technically slept with a woman. _Funny, that, _the lady thought. She supposed the rumours of him and Pansy shagging like rabbits in heat were fabrications of the boy's own invention. Wishful thinking on his part that turned to bragging. _Figures, _she thought. _They will suffice nonetheless; Severus and I will be free of our vows forever. As long as someone remembers to _Obliviate _the poor girl. _

With a secret smile, Sinistra kissed Hermione's forehead in a gesture of the utmost tenderness, and, murmuring more honey-tongued reassurances, left her to her fate. 

"I want you to know it's such a wonderful thing to not have to hear your whiny, puerile complaints," Severus laughed, watching as Lucius yanked Harry's legs further apart and shoved himself into the prostrate Gryffindor's arse. 

They had lubricated him, but it still hurt like hell, and Harry was having trouble catching his breath after each thrust, let alone making time to swear. He felt sloshed from the pumpkin juice mixer and worse from all of the sharp jabs and shoves. He couldn't expect Snape to spare him, though: "There's nothing more annoying in this world than having to clean up after you fail yet another one of your Potions experiments and whine about it." 

Malfoy Sr. appeared mildly annoyed that he couldn't torture the boy in private, but it was this or nothing at all. Mind you, once the war was over and the naïve snake-man removed from the picture entirely (so run the thoughts of most megalomaniacs), he would have first pick of the spoils. To Lucius, Harry was far too intriguing as a prospective slave than as a corpse, though in a pinch, a body might serve nicely if still fresh. 

One never really knew with Lucius Malfoy. 

Harry grunted, his glasses slipping down his nose to rest haphazardly as the Potions master watched the other Death Eater fuck him. 

"What's the matter, Mister Potter?" Snape taunted him, Lucius thrusting in and out rhythmically, holding him firmly in place in the most demeaning manner possible—by his nipples. If Harry so much as crawled forward for an inch of reprieve, the older man twisted his skin hard enough to break the flesh. Harry only had to make that mistake once, to Malfoy's utter disappointment. Severus leaned forward and yanked Harry's head up with the roots on his scalp, tugging harshly. "Cat got your tongue?" 

Harry stared straight ahead, blinking as he felt clumps of hair separating from his head. "I'm too busy thinking of various ways you'd enjoy being tortured before I finally kill you." He gave Snape a dismissive look, choosing instead to look several yards away, directly into Draco's eyes, as he received the blessings of the rites from the veiled lady, face impassive. 

"There's the stupid little Gryffindor I remember. Knew he was in there somewhere; I'd nearly lost my patience. Remarkable that you can find your own name amidst all the cobwebs in that vacuous melon on your shoulders." Snape took a step back again as Malfoy pushed with the palm of his vice-like hand, and Potter's head snapped forward again to connect with the ground in front of him. 

Harry spat out some grass and weeds, but otherwise said nothing. 

Draco was ecstatic. 

He was so excited, in fact, that Sinistra had to give him a slap on the shoulder more than once to make him concentrate as she read the second stanza of the Latin Hymn of the Vigil. 

Meanwhile, Harry's eyes bore down on him relentlessly, as if he was willing his suffering onto his enemy without hesitation. Draco didn't care. He wanted Potter to despise him. That was the whole _point _of this. 

All of this. 

He had tolerated standing under the Boy Who Lived's shadow and the shadows of his friends. Sure, he had scored a few well-placed hits. But after Fifth Year and the incarceration of his father, the family name had fallen out of favour, and Draco's fortunes had taken a turn for the worst. His mother had retreated into a state of self-righteous ignominy, preferring the solitude of the Manor's bedroom suites to public affairs that might save her household from disgrace. This left the house-elves and her lover-of-the-week to take care of them. Even Lucius' escape made no difference to her, and she remained in self-seclusion. 

Narcissa also ignored her husband's assignations. He brought Sinistra to stay at the Manor over the summer and did a right good job of hiding it. Sometimes the sounds from below made their way past the dusty wooden beams, through the ceiling of the dungeons to echo from hall to hall upstairs, the throbbing ricochet of dead hearts on hot and restless summer nights. Draco would near the secret opening behind the grandfather clock in the study, keeping out of sight so that he wouldn't have a pointy-eared, nosy creature in a dither over his welfare. There, concealed behind the chaise or in the closet, he stroked himself to completion. 

After his first time overhearing their activities, Draco inquired as to whether he could play with his father's new 'toy.' Lucius rewarded him with a derisive snort. "If you're going to shag a teacher, at least do it during term when it might do you some good." Then he gave him a sound walloping. 

Apparently, father and son had grown apart. They used to share most everything.

He used to have it all. Then Potter took it away. Corrupted it. Harry Potter had _ruined _his life. _He _was responsible, and he alone. And that was just fine and dandy by him--as long as he was allowed to return the favour. 

Draco's eyes drifted toward the pavilion. 

It was too simple to just torture and rape Potter. The daft, headstrong prick would wallow in self-pity, indulging in pathetic displays of guilt and remorse. When those feelings had peaked and the waves of loathing had broken and receded from his conscience, he would move on and recover. Potter would heal, simply marking down the experience as one more suffering in many that Harold James Potter, wonder-wizard extraordinaire, had endured in the name of heroism. _Sorry about all of this, but I can't afford to let you off that easily, now can I? _

Wanting to kill yourself out of shame was one thing. Knowing a _best friend _wanted to end her life was quite another. 

Above all else, Draco wanted to hit him where it hurt. 

Ron Weasley was right out. He and Draco matched each other in height and strength, but competing intellectually with a Weasley was akin to playing croquet with a giant, talking slug. All one could do was stare and laugh. _No challenge there, really, none at all, _Draco recalled amusedly as Sinistra made a slice down his shift, exactly like Hermione's... 

Hermione Granger. There was a problem that needed fixing. 

It was incredibly difficult to remember precisely when he began to loathe her. What it when she performed her first spell perfectly? The day her broom jumped into her hands while his remained obstinately still on the dewy grass? _No. It was when she joined forces with Potty and Weasel, and they became the Unbeatable Trio. _

Draco watched his father go at Potter's arse not two yards in front of him. His mind, however, went back to when Granger (stupid little Mudblood that she was) had dared to hit him. He had scrubbed his face thoroughly afterwards, afraid he had caught a disease, ashamed, furious, and positively shocked with disbelief that common filth would dare to TOUCH him, let alone _slap _him. He, a wizard and a Malfoy! It was unthinkable. 

Since then, he had wizened to the ways of the wizarding world. Mudbloods didn't infect your skin. They were far more insidious than that. They poisoned your very _mind. _

That was why Granger consistently outshone him in academics. That was why her end of term marks were always first and his were second, her hand always faster to shoot up boastfully into the air, her critiques ever more profound. One step ahead of him, every single time. Granger _had _to best him at all he did (save Quidditch). She wanted to trick the populace into thinking that physical health was irrelevant when the mind was sharp. She wanted to see him fail. Take him down a notch. How else would she find a place among her superiors if she didn't beat him in all respects? How else could she gain any attention? 

Well, she had his full and undivided attention now. 

Draco was aroused at the thought of her tied up and waiting for him, Potter looking on in horror as he took her like an animal. He jumped when Sinistra touched him on the belly and moved her hands still lower, smearing the paint into curved symbols, then covering his cock with a luminescent oil. He couldn't suppress the moan of wanton need that escaped his throat as she worked, the entirety of his willpower focused on rising slowly rather than running like a feverish patient to the oasis that lay before him. He had strength enough for this; he could ravish Granger again and again and still have the lust to do Potter or Sinistra before dawn... 

_It is time. Go to her. _

Whether it was Sinistra's voice or his own, he obeyed the orders with pleasure. Draco cast a disparaging look at Potter, who lay there limp and exhausted at Snape and Lucius' feet. His father's eyes... _sweet Merlin, I _know _that look... _He shot a warning glance at Snape, who perceived immediately. 

"You will not take him away, Lucius. That is not your privilege." 

"Privilege be damned. He sent me to _Azkaban." _Malfoy stooped and grabbed Harry, hauling him up in one quick jerk even as his cock slipped from between his cheeks. He held the boy still for a minute, considering, the coils in Harry's stomach winding and tightening as he felt the man's ringed fingers press hard into his shoulders. 

Finally, "Does it matter if he's damaged goods? Considering what I just did--" 

"_How_ damaged?" 

"Not that much. A little blood." 

Snape grew annoyed. "Lucius..." His voice had a deadly tone in its warning. 

Lucius debated whether Potter's servitude was worth killing for. "Fine," he spat eventually, his gaze murderous and barely contained. "No bleeding." 

They finally seemed to notice that Draco was standing there, watching with an impassive expression on his face. Then he turned towards the tent, not sparing them another glance. "On his knees," the blond said casually over his shoulder. "I want him to watch." 

**"YOU FUCKING _BASTARD--"_**

Harry had only time to say three words before Snape grabbed his wand and hexed him into silence. 

Hermione stiffened in fear as she heard footsteps ascending the dais once more. She jerked at her restraints, trying to tilt her head back and see who it was, but she couldn't turn her head around far enough in this state. The translucent shades parted, and she could tell someone was watching her, molesting every inch of her with his eyes for several long moments. Then he took several slow, deliberate paces to the opposite corner, watching her, waiting for her reaction. 

She didn't have to look at him to know who he was. Did it even matter? Besides, whenever she tried to focus too hard her head would hurt. 

An emotionless, dead acknowledgement. "Malfoy." 

"Mudblood." The reply was a curt greeting, echoing hers. 

"Yes, you have to remind yourself of that often, don't you?" There was no time for shame or embarrassment; he had seen her naked once already. Hermione bit back the rest of the caustic remarks that bubbled up like bile in the throat, wanting to escape. "Listen to me, Malfoy," she continued in a weak voice, appearing unconcerned that he was back to calling her names. "They've put you under some sort of spell. It doesn't take up all of your thoughts, but it influences them to evil. I know, because they did it to me as well." 

He said nothing. 

When it became clear he wasn't going to say more, she spoke again, the words still drawn out and disconnected from the spells. "I know you don't like me. That's fine. I don't care. But Snape has taken your jealousies and insecurities and turned them from foul to treacherous--" 

He laughed harshly, his arms folding as he regarded her. "Jealous? Of who? Potter? _You?" _Draco gave her a look of pure incredulity, then picked at some dried blue paint on his linen outfit where his skin had smeared the cloth. "Granger, _please. _Don't flatter yourself." 

"There are many explanations as to why someone like you would envy an orphan, a Weasley and a Muggle-born," she replied quietly, praying she could keep her eyes open for a while longer without feeling too ill. It certainly didn't start with jealousy, but then, it didn't start with cruelty, either. At least, not from our side." Hermione shot him a pointed look. He was still once more, looking at her with an unreadable expression. 

Undaunted, Hermione used the only weapon in her arsenal, though she feared it was pointless. "It doesn't matter whether you're jealous or not. The point is you're committing an act that you would never contemplate in your right mind. I'm a Muggle-born, remember? A "Mudblood." Erasing my mind and Harry's won't change that. You won't forget. I doubt your father will, either." 

She had had struck something. His eyes narrowed, and he shifted from one foot to another, making no indication that he was going to snap back. Still, Hermione suspected he would start throwing insults and blows any minute now. She took a good, long look at him, really _looked _instead of just observing. Her voice dropped. "You can't reconcile it, can you?" she said, voice trembling. "Maybe in your heart, where you're so entangled in poison and circumstance, but not in your mind. And I know why." She took in a breath. "Your father." 

Draco's eyes remained hooded. Any lapse into silence was an advantage to her. He had more time to let the words sink in. _Maybe, just maybe... _

"That's right. Tell me your father will just _adore _you for this," Hermione went on, clinging to a shred of hope. "Especially after he couldn't wait to scrub his hands after touching me. He's already had his litter. Wonder if he cares that you haven't had yours yet. I wonder if he thinks a taste of tainted flesh will corrupt his precious ickle heir?" She smiled grimly, or tried to, in any case. It was hard to smile when one had to pinch one's lips to avoid falling into dizziness again. 

"You know what? I don't think you were thinking when you thought this through. At the very least, you weren't employing your _brain. _You're a bigot by birthright, and he'll never let you forget who you are. Lucius and your honourable name will not stop the wagging of tongues. Someone will find out, sooner or later. What will you do then, hmm? Pretend it never happened? This will eat away at your soul, piece by piece, day by day, until you are consumed. You slept with someone of impure blood. Can't get it up without thinking about it--that's what the men will say. The women will consider you dirty. Sullied with the scent of a mutt." She hated saying these things, but that didn't mean she was going to stop. After all, she didn't believe them... 

"Are you listening to me, Malfoy? Why waste your time on someone you obviously loathe? You don't desire me, and you could have anyone you want. Snape's _using _you. You're nothing but a puppet, a marionette whose strings he likes to pull. Do yourself a favour and use someone you'd rather see lying here instead of thisfarce. The Malfoy inheritance will remain pure, Snape's precious ingredient will be more potent, and you won't be with someone you don't want." 

Most of it was not far from the truth. Was there a chance? Even a little one? 

She held her breath. And waited. 

An extremely sardonic look spread slowly across his face, coupled with an expression of amusement. Definitely not good. 

"Granger, Granger, Granger," he clucked his tongue at her, unfolding his arms and stalking towards the altar with measured footsteps. "What _am _I going to do with you?" He laughed. "Actually, your night has a forgone conclusion, but I was hoping you'd be perceptive and try to guess." 

"Let me think. You're going to develop a bloody spine and surprise us all by letting me go, absolving yourself of guilt and complicity so that Harry and I don't press charges when we testify against you?" 

"Hardly." Draco stepped into the circle of light from the lanterns and candles surrounding her, sitting on the stone edges of the reinforced bed. 

Hermione sighed inwardly. "Confess you were only shagging Snape for the grades?" 

He leaned over her, picking up a piece of her dark brown hair and rolling it through his fingers, as though he were inspecting an exotic pet on sale at the Magical Menagerie. "Wrong again, Mudblood. You're not very good at this, are you?" 

"Take the opportune moment to kick your father in the balls for treating you more like a prize than a son?" Hermione knew this was true; the man barely acknowledged Malfoy Jr. at Quidditch matches unless he was yelling at him for losing. 

"What's that terrible, American, Muggle phrase again?" Draco asked, grinning in a horribly frightening way that froze the blood in her veins. "Ah, now I remember!" He leapt onto the altar in one swift move, his lithe body hovering over Hermione's prone figure. She knew the manacles that held her wrists down were probably warded as well as locked. That didn't stop her from struggling in panic all the same. He chuckled, running a hand down her side, trailing her curves. _"Three strikes and you're out."_

"No, Granger," Draco breathed, tilting her head forcing her to look into his eyes. "You've missed the point entirely. I don't care what my father thinks. He can rot in hell for all I care. Snape knows this, which is why I suggested you to him. It was an offer he couldn't resist." 

"You... _planned _this?" she shrieked, jerking even more underneath him, desperate to free just one arm so that she would have the pleasure of clawing his eyes out with her nails as talons... 

He coughed in astonishment, looking at her as if she was mentally impaired. "You couldn't _tell? _What a stupid bint." 

"SHUT UP!" 

"You're a worthless piece of impure trash compared to me, Granger. You _do _know that, don't you? No, I suppose you don't. That made this all the more necessary." He twisted one of her nipples and drew a yelp of pain from her, which seemed to please him. "I don't need to treat you like I treat Pansy, or Tracey, or Millicent, or anyone else of better standing, for that matter. I can do whatever I want with you. And I will, too." For emphasis, his hands kneaded her breasts roughly, cupping them and squeezing them before applying pressure to the tips again, causing her to whimper. It was then that she noticed Draco's shift was split open like hers and barely tied together with another scrap of white cloth. Her eyes caught on the sizeable bulge in the fabric at his waist. He continued to talk. 

"You see, deep down, we both know you're not such a good girl as everyone would like to believe. Isn't that so?" Draco waited a moment for her response. Then he yanked angrily on a nipple as his other finger dug into her flank with surprising strength. She screamed louder in answer. "I saw you watching us. I know you wanted it so badly, to be fucked and pummelled the way my father takes whores, begging and moaning like an animal in heat. I decided to be kind and indulge you." Hermione cringed and glared daggers at him, but he continued as if he hadn't even noticed. 

Hermione tuned him out momentarily and wondered where Harry was. Had he escaped in the fuss they were making over her and this ritual? Were they torturing him, too? Just like her? Worse? Her mind was full of questions, but Malfoy's words kept pulling her back to the present, denying her the pleasant twilight sleep the potions had accorded to her body. "I had some reservations about doing this with a Mudblood," he remarked casually, straightening her eyebrows and running his hands along her face as if to smooth it out to his liking, "but Snape assured me I wouldn't catch anything. After all those purification spells, you're temporarily pure--in a certain sense of the word, mind you--for several hours. Won't stop me from scrubbing thoroughly afterwards, though." He leaned in to suck at the flesh of her neck. 

The howl that erupted from Hermione's throat was feral and harsh, and she reached with her mouth for his skin, biting down on the side of his jaw. He yanked his head away, lifting a hand to rub at the sore spot, staring at her incredulously. Then he swung his arm up in an arc and down, backhanding her fiercely. She gasped and sputtered as stars exploded behind her eyes. 

Somewhere inside the castle, Ron Weasley was scratching his and wondering his friends weren't around to enjoy his prank. 

It was almost funny, he mused, holding her throat still with one hand clasped like iron around her trembling neck, the other trailing down her perfect skin, dusting over the peak and sliding along the underside of her breast. If Potter hadn't ignored his feelings for her in the most idiotic of manners, exposing her strength and determination for the entire school to see as she struggled with her feelings and herself, Hermione Granger would never have spent hours upon hours in the library, studying all alone. This single act of ignorance on Wonder Boy's part left Granger's wounds open and raw. She dove even further into her studies, determined to distance herself and define who she was beyond simply being Potter's sidekick and Weasley's ex. 

Of course, he was there beside her all along, watching from the shadows. 

Slytherin's common room was no place to accomplish anything that could be called 'productive.' He wasn't about to study alone when he could pick up perfectly good secrets by eavesdropping on someone else. There was usually someone dumb enough to think he wouldn't be caught wanking a few rows from Pince. Off to the library it was. That was where he found her, her eyebrows widening at some new revelation the latest dusty tome on her desk had to share, her quill stroking her cheek in languorous, sensual movements that ought to have been outlawed in every wizarding state in existence, her eyes burning with fire, hotter than the sun. He observed her from his hidden lair above the alcove in the Astronomy section, cloaked in silence, his own quill and parchment charmed to noiselessness, spending one hour on work that took ten minutes to complete. After the very first of countless times he did this, Draco was so hard he couldn't move without wincing. Malfoy waited until she was gone before relieving himself. 

That was the day he decided she would be his. At any cost. 

To think that his loathed enemy, Potty-faced Adolescent Eunuch, was responsible for his final descent into uncontrolled obsession. It nearly made him laugh. 

Hermione's renewed struggles brought the ardent Slytherin back to his current blessed position. Still under the influence of the drug he had administered earlier but fighting like a wildcat, she attempted to knee him in the groin. 

In reality, all Granger succeeded in doing was to rub up against him in a particularly erotic manner. As her knee goosed his inner thigh and brushed against him, the blood remaining in his upper body thrummed in his ears and rushed down his limbs to pool in his groin. He slipped a finger inside her, the first intrusion of her sacred virginity, no doubt saved in hopes that the drunken twit lying at his progenitor's feet would someday relieve her of it. What a larf. He stroked her, pleased to see her breathing increased and her struggles lessen somewhat and give way to shameful tears instead. He supposed that was better than the other way around. 

It was obvious Granger was aroused now. Her skin pebbled, and he applied his tongue to the tip of a breast before taking it into his mouth. Her lips formed an 'oh,' and she sucked her breath in sharply, pushing at his forehead with her elbows. He merely smiled and batted her limbs away effortlessly, licking her skin to familiarize his mind with her scent before he removed his probing fingers to sample them as well. Hermione watched him with a horrified expression on her face. 

"Bet you a thousand galleons Ron never knows how good that tastes," he lifts up to stare down at her imperiously. 

She gagged. 

"Snape," Malfoy drawled, licking the excess moisture from his middle finger as a cat laps at milk, "you may begin." 

Her initial reaction to Draco's practised violation of her—privates, down there—left Hermione a mess. Her head felt two sizes too big for her body, and she thought her neck might bobble like those silly Muggle toys caricaturing politicians in miniature. Her arms and legs and thighs and ribs ached, belying any pretence of gentility. 

This wasn't how it was supposed to be, nothing at all like what they tell you in those books you sneak off your mum's nightstand at age twelve, with flowers and romantic candlelight and words of endearment. Lust was all right, she supposed, trying to ignore Draco's manhandling of her flesh as he pried her thighs apart, inch-by-inch. But at the very least it should have been _reciprocated _lust! Where were the tender murmurings of love and adoration? Malfoy had plenty of words, but most of them were four letters long, oft repeated, and they usually began with a "c." 

She let her head fall to the side, and what assaulted her senses there was almost worse than the actions above her. Professor Snape was whispering into the veiled lady's ear. She didn't seem to mind that his erection was rubbing up against her knee, getting closer and closer to the apex of her thighs, nor did she seem to notice that with every word of promised love—speech denied to her, though she envied this woman not—he removed another inch of clothing from her skin. Hermione couldn't decide whether the woman was actually enjoying it or not; she seemed to be glancing over Severus's shoulder in the rare moments when her eyes weren't shut, beyond the curtains to another man. Malfoy. Snape didn't notice, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. In fact, this was the happiest she had seen him, if indeed you could call the licentious, possessive look on his face 'happy,' that she had ever seen him. 

"Hermione." She lifted her head to look at Draco again, nearly grateful for the distraction, even if it brought her unwillingly aroused state to her attention. 

He said nothing but inclined his head. She looked beyond him. 

Her heart plummeted into her stomach. _Please, please God, no—_

"See? I'm not completely heartless. I brought you a present. It's a bit used, but you can still look at it while we're preoccupied, if you'd like." 

She tried to shut her eyes, but someone's wand had cast a limited mobility spell, and she could not clench them shut, no matter that she would have given her soul for the right. 

In that moment, Draco was the cruellest he had ever been. "After all," he smiled coldly, eyes flashing, "what's the fun in a special moment like this without your best friend to share in it?" 

In the golden twilight between the strands of his hair, Hermione could see a bruised and ravished Harry sobbing her name as Draco thrust himself home. 

"No, I don't know where she is. This is the fourth time tonight I've told you exactly the same thing."

Ron scratched his head. "Oh." Then, ten seconds later, "Well, what abo—"

"I haven't seen Harry, either! Not since nearly two hours ago! AND I TOLD YOU THAT _BEFORE!_ GOODNIGHT, RONALD." Ginny stormed off.

…Stumbling through the hallway that led directly to Gryffindor Tower, Ron frowned. He had been looking for someone. Right?

_Right?_

As he first slid into her, nudging between her legs, she almost felt relieved. It wasn't hurting at all. Maybe it was an old wife's tale meant to keep brides blushing on their wedding nights. 

It turned out that the first push was merely positioning. He hadn't even gone halfway inside of her. 

The second thrust was vicious, and she happened to breath in when he did it. He came up against a wall inside of her that screamed, "Stop! No entry!" and he just kept on going. Something with her gave way in a sudden burst, and she did scream then, an afterthought to the blinding pain of being completely unprepared. 

He didn't give her a moment's pause either, though if he had, she might have returned her stricken gaze to Harry, who was screaming bloody murder with a silencing charm muting it all out. In any case, all she could see was red. Red lights, crimson, searing pain, all over, and Draco laughing somewhere far above her. 

Malfoy sank his teeth into her shoulder and moaned. _Where is Potty's triumph now?_

_Merlin, I could come on that thought alone._ It was absolution without the sacrifice, lessened only by the itching reminder in the back of his musings that he would have to share her, presently and each time thereafter. _He_ would always be her first, _he_ would surface in her dreams and nightmares. It would be _his_ face that would cross her mind at least once a day, even if she didn't know the precise reason why, his scent she would smell every time another man touched her.

_We all have to make occasional concessions,_ he told himself grudgingly.

He thrust harder, burying himself to the hilt, never lessening the force of his intent until he stiffened and spilled his seed inside of her. 

Hermione felt a warm, sticky gush, and finally he stopped. The voice erupting from her throat was cracking and dead. "Get. OFF. Me." 

To her astonishment, Draco complied. Hermione could see Harry, holding his face in his hands. She was dirty now. He wasn't ever going to look at her the same way again. _I would have waited for you,_ she sobbed inside, but their was only numbness inside, an icy infection that snaked its way through her heart. 

Snape finished with Sinistra screaming on his lap and his hand on her mouth. When he removed it, the imprint left a splotchy red mark on her face. Hermione couldn't read her expression. 

Snape collected something out of a basin below the meshed area. She realised, with a shiver of revulsion and recognition, exactly what kind of 'sample' Snape had needed. 

Lucius hardly seemed unnerved that everyone but he and Potter were no completely nude. Harry certainly wasn't surprised. 

Someone thrust another drink into her hands and helped her sit up so that she could drink it. She didn't protest. 

At least, not until thirty seconds later, when her common sense kicked in. 

Snape was looking at her, in the same way Draco had done only moments ago. If he had ever stopped looking at her like that. 

_Not again._

Weak and humiliated, she was still going to put up a good fight. 

By the time Snape had her pinned beneath his arm and two fingers inside of her, she had bitten him at least ten times. Draco fared little better, having graciously opted to help restrain his recent conquest. 

Snape took his bloody time, lying her back so that she reclined in Draco's arms, his manhood already hard and pressed against the curve of her lower back. "He likes it when you watch," Malfoy cooed into her ear, and she made a choking sound until a hand stilled her jaw and forced her to meet those pyres of malevolence straight on. 

It was worse, in a sense, both because she was sore from Draco's maltreatment of her and from the way in which he waited until his sensations forced her to enjoy it, and she was moaning and sobbing all at the same time, unable to look up for fear she might see a pair of eyes too unbearable to suffer. 

Then he was filling her, rocking her slowly back and forth, thrusting and releasing her over and over again, and Draco worked his fingers around the back of her, groaning when he finally sank into her from behind on top of them. Hermione couldn't see Malfoy, but she could definitely feel him. 

They remained like that until Snape came, and then he tortured her some more. 

She screamed as he parted her with his tongue, consuming her the way she had only considered fit for the seventh level of Hell, Draco still taking her from behind. Only when she began to beg with every halting breath, shouting though her voice ran raw, scratching at the blonde's arms until they ran red with the blood she might have saved in his keeping, crying and beseeching Snape to cease the damnable waves of orgasms that cut off and subsided, only to crest and recede again, she would DIE, but this was what death looked like without sight anyway— 

Only then, when she said the words he ordered her to speak from the song of her sins, did he enter her and send her to oblivion— 

_"Yours alone."_

Hermione woke up the next morning, shivering from a nightmare she didn't remember. But her detention was served, wasn't it? She could enjoy the weekend now, and… 

Harry sat at the foot of her bed. The shadows on his face were longer than the eons it takes to create grief, and they hung like spectres from his eyes as he stared at her with a mixture of pity, despair and utter, complete tenderness. 

"Why, Harry," she exclaimed, happier than she had ever thought she could be to see him look at her so openly, the unmistakable signs of love written on his face. 

"You're crying. What's wrong? Harry? Are you well? Harry? Speak to me, please!" 

But he only hugged her more tightly, sobbing into her shoulder as if to protect her from himself. Then she noticed a faint mark—a glyph, perhaps? It was under the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers traced around it in little circles. 

"...I can't." 

She didn't notice the single blood red rose on her bureau until that afternoon. 

_Fin _

**(Yet Another) Author's Note:** CN is based on Freytag's analysis of dramatic structure in fiction: the Exposition, Rising Action, Climax (Turning Point), Falling Action, and Denouement, probably best demonstrated in Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ and F. Scott Fitzgerald's _The Great Gatsby_. Hence, the five chapters and five stages of action, reaction, and resolution will not bring us full circle. While I have the utmost respect for the Aristotelian Unities, they do not reside in this story. ;)

Characterizing Snape, Draco and Lucius simultaneously was like trying to stuff a suitcase with twice the normal amount of baggage: as soon as I sat on the lid and shoved one shirt in, another sock would pop out. I know that there was a lot more from Draco's perspective than I had originally planned, but I feel that Snape's actions, rather than this thoughts, were more appropriate to explain his behavior in this story, and for me at least, it is easier to see becoming bitter and disillusioned with the OotP than it is to jump from whiny brat!Draco to methodinmymadness!Draco. For the sake of the renewal ritual, the characters played their appropriate parts.

It is (very loosely) implied that Hermione endured a Memory charm and Harry a wizard's oath of silence. She will continue to participate--willingly or not--in the ritual...until the next unfortunate virgin comes along, many years later. 

This is the fifth rewrite of the last three chapters; I'm going to leave it as it is. I'm just glad it's finished.

**ETA March 2008:** I said I wouldn't, but I'm toying with the idea of writing a sequel where Hermione gets her 'pound of flesh,' so to speak. I can't do that on unless this is posted first, so here you go! Don't hate me. Please? In my mind Hermione always finds justice, just not always within the text of a story.


End file.
